Office work

A really boring evening yesterday. A full two hours spent taking dictation - more invoices to be done - customer requires them for the end of their financial year. So this morning, I spent some time unwinding - probably a bit too much. Did the codewords puzzle in the Evening Standard and then played several computer games. Guilt overcame me around lunch time and I sorted out the invoices, printed them out, filed the copies, etc., etc.

While taking and collecting M from the station, I had another marvellous view of autumn colours. I tried to describe them in my head - the golden browns set against the red brick of our mainly Victorian village, but how do you describe autumn leaves; golden browns, warm browns, yellowy browns? Can a writer ever do justice to scenery in the way an artist can? I asked this in a poem I composed some time ago. One keeps trying, probably, in the same way that some artists repeatedly choose the same subject and try to reproduce it over and over again, each time aiming for perfection, or perhaps something better than last time.

Shortly after we got in, there was a downpour, so just as well I wasn't driving then. It was torrential. As it was, on my journey out, I noticed quite a few fallen branches. Autumn is very late this year. The leaves are only just falling, but the high winds and heavy rain will soon bring them all down.

I heard the other day from Wendy Lloyd with the names of the first three short stories in the Radio Southern Counties competition. I wasn't one of them, but was still very happy to have been featured on their website and paid for my story, Damaged Goods. http://www.bbc.co.uk/southerncounties/content/articles/2006/06/13/story_jackie_luben.shtml

Book-keeping

I just noticed on my Home Page, BBC Radio 4 that Ed Reardon is on tonight. That's one of the best comedy programmes in the 6.30 p.m. slot, in my opinion - and not just mine, because it won some sort of award. It appeals to me at two levels, because he's an impecunious writer and gives creative writing classes to supplement his income and does book signings where no-one turns up. Although I've never done a creative writing class, I do empathise with this very true view of the writer, rather than the one who earns hundreds of thousands of pounds.

I've been very industrious today and made inroads into the bookkeeping. I did a couple of hours last night too, after watching Bramwell on satellite. This is a very good, intelligent series about a woman doctor at the end (I think) of the 19th century. Somehow I never watched it, other than a few episodes when it was out first time around, so I'm enjoying it as fresh TV.

I'm one of those few people who doesn't mind book-keeping. I find it soothing. You don't have to think too hard, and it must be almost like meditation, where you allow your mind to drift. It mustn't drift too much, or you put things in the wrong columns. When I have been very, very upset, it's something I can do and not think about the problem. Unlike some other jobs, you get a feeling of having completed something at the end of it. I have four different books to deal with, and completing each one gives me a sense of satisfaction. I carry out the book-keeping quarterly and do the VAT at the same time. I am old fashioned enough not to do it on the computer.

At 4.00 p.m. I looked out and the sky was still light - bright in fact, as it sometimes is on these late autumn days. I debated whether to take a couple of letters to the post, but decided to plough on. A half an hour later and it's now completely dark.