Mr Robin has only visited about once daily, since the weather became milder, though a frost brought him to the kitchen door very promptly this morning. I captured him (definitely him, this time) on camera, including a shot of his perch on the window sill where he first summons me to provide food, and him pecking at grains on the ground, unconcerned at the OM’s presence.
I don’t know what winter does to your hair. Mine looked appalling at the weekend. We were out to lunch at a place in Ripley with friends and I washed it in the hope of improving it, but it still looked flat and devoid of life. Having booked an appointment to get it trimmed on Thursday (tomorrow), it has now typically perked up.
Today, I dragged the OH kicking and screaming to the cinema in Guildford, and also met up with Irene, to see The King’s Speech, which is worth all the plaudits it has gained. We all enjoyed it, and the OM managed to sit still (unusual for him), through half an hour of mind-numbing adverts and trailors (does the Odeon want to drive us away?) and throughout the performance, which never flagged for a moment. Very moving, all the more so, knowing that King George really did have to face the terrible ordeal of speechmaking with a stammer.
On the writing front, the good news is that my short story Maggies Plot is now live at Untreed Reads at £1.25, payable, of course by credit card or Paypal, so it will automatically get converted into other currencies. It’s also available from the usual suspects - reduced royalty for me, I fear, but I’ll be happy to have the sales. From Amazon UK, it’s a mere 93p. It is, of course, just a short story.
In addition to that, I have also received from Untreed Reads, and returned to them the contracts for two more pieces, The Obsession and An Affair of the Mind. I was very chuffed to receive The Editor in Chief’s comments on An Affair …´ which read ‘Loved it, loved it, loved it. Brilliant stuff, and a definite yes for me.’
When I emailed my thanks, he replied with more praise, adding, ‘Not a single word wasted and a very high literary form. Such an absolute pleasure to read and definitely my kind of stuff. Hope you'll send more my way.’
Naturally, I immediately found another story to send to him.
Installing our new digital recorder has required a change-around, so that this new piece of equipment could be fitted into the same space as the video recorder, (still used for my Rosemary Conley Aerobics video which I’m proud to say I have performed at least four times since Christmas) and the CD player. I removed several photo albums and found a new home for them in another cubby-hole, first removing two files of papers dating back some decades.
Full marks to me for ruthlessness in throwing out (to the recycling, of course) a whole file of old jobs, but I couldn’t throw out the older file, more or less a history of our home, with skirmishes with the building society, when we were moneyless and behind in payments, planning application for an extra bedroom and the happy day, when we were offered laid-on gas instead of oil. I’ll just have to find another place to file it. Apropos my comments of a few days ago, I found correspondence about a faulty jar of marmalade, in which the manufacturers, apologising, said they had ‘jars of jam at the factory which were vacuum-sealed some seventy years ago and these are still in good condition.’ That, of course, was before the days of ‘Best before.’
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