268. The Writer's Retreat

08:15 – The perfect time to get up. Sadly, I woke up an hour ago, but, joy of joys, I went back to sleep. The dog is curled up in the small of my back. She has most of the bed and most of the duvet. But at least I’m warm.

08:30 – Coffee. Delicious, even if I do have to make it myself. Dog’s still snoozin’ on the bed. The sky is blue, the clouds are scudding, and I sit in the warmth watching the seabirds whirling. This view is a balm to my soul, and a welcome change from magnolia office walls.

09:00 – Washed and brushed and ready to work. I’ve moved the table so it’s in front of the windows, and the laptop is primed and ready to go. There is nothing to fear in a blank sheet of (virtual) paper. Let the tapping commence!

Tapping.

13:00 – The man arrives to mend the oven. It’s nice to have another human to talk to, even if the conversation is, well, limited. When he’s gone lunch is halloumi, rocket and avocado in pitta. Slurp.

Tapping.

15:00 – I call my mother. ‘Darling, I was about to call you!’ She’s got guests coming and a trip to the theatre in store. She sounds happy and that makes me happy.

Tapping.

15:30 – Apparently there’s bad weather coming, so the Hound and I venture out. She sniffs, I trudge, we both get blown about. Only I come back with pink cheeks.

Tapping.

16:00 – It’s got dark and suddenly I’m aware of being alone. So I put a fairly new CD on the good stereo, which has got super-woofers and adjustable bass and treble and god knows what. Might as well be listening to the album for the first time. Which is amazing, and also worrying. What else have I listened to and not been able to hear?

Tapping.

16:20 – Herself emails the best news. Feel slightly weepy, but I am writing about three sisters who’ve just lost their Mum, so I’m hyper-sensitive to family business just now.

Tapping.

16:38 – Writing this. First and only bit of work avoidance all day. But it’s still writing, right? Right.

Tapping.

17:02 – Oops, a weepy bit. It’s quite hard typing with tears in your eyes – have to do a lot of dramatic blinking. I just hope if anybody ever reads this bloody book they cry here, too. 

Tapping.

17:30 – That’s quite enough of that. Do as the experts say and shut the computer while there’s still juice in the creative tank. But now it’s time to get the Spag Bol on. Decide to put a film on while I’m cooking – something Herself won’t watch. Spend a very happy 90 minutes chopping and frying in the company of Ratatouille – the ideal choice.

11.30 - Bed. That's very late for a week-night. I'm such a rebel.

Day Two promises to be similar, with slightly nicer weather, a supermarket trip and the arrival of the Queen of Herself in the evening to look forward to. If only this was my all-the-time life. If only I could find a way to make this life pay me money. Oh, wait, that’s what I’m doing…

Tapping.

267. Bicycle singing

Apparently, girls turn into their mothers. Lucky me, I say. But I have noticed the odd maternal foible creeping in already. My mother sings out loud - in the street, in a shop, round Ikea. And she gets very cross if you point out, however gently, that other people can hear her and God Mum you're so embarrassing.

I sing on my bicycle. It's partly to make the journey go faster, and partly because nobody can really hear me, and it's fun. I was singing in French last week, and that song is RUDE, but how many French people did I cycle past? Not many, I don't think.

I wonder if I have any other maternal foibles yet? Can I pick and choose? Does anybody know how this is supposed to work?

266. New musical discoveries

If it were left to me, I'd still be listening to Duran Duran and OMD. Luckily, however, I have a few friends who are happy to help me out of the musical doldrums. And in this way I have discovered lots of music that I love. Stornoway, Jessie Ware, Bon Iver, Roisin Murphy, Polica, Iamamiwhoami - I could go on, but I'm feeling a bit elderly today and can barely remember my own name.

265. Nail varnish

The me I become when I paint my fingernails a rather sultry dark red is a definite improvement. The painted me is better put-together and infinitely more chic. She is a bit naughty and definitely more fun at parties than the unpainted version. She is not taller or thinner, but she might look it.

All that, for less than a tenner? Amazing. But the trick is not to be painted all the time - or you don't feel the benefit.

264. Wildlife Photographer of the Year

Every year at around this time, I nick a couple of hours from whatever turgid task is currently causing stopping me finishing my novel, and look at the winners and runners up in the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition.

It makes me laugh (look at the fluffed up raven, sitting in the snow). It makes me cry (look at the polar bear on the thinning ice). It holds me spellbound (almost all of them, but particularly the black and white of the hare).

The dedication and talent of these photographers is incredible, and it's a huge pleasure to look at their work. I should go along to the Natural History Museum and stand in front of the pictures - but I love being able to take my time, gazing at them with all the awe and wonder of a child at Christmas.

263. The Rules of Civility by Amor Towles

I found this novel by chance. And I'm so glad I did, as I love it to bits and pieces and so does every single person I have given it to.

It restores your faith in the modern novel and ruins your appetite for anything else for a good week or so. I've now read it three times and I'm already trying to work out how long I should leave it til I can read it again. Please run to your nearest independent bookshop and buy yourself two copies - one for you, and one for all your friends.

262. A bath

It's the weekend. You've been running around all day doing jobs and chores, so you've earned a long hot bath. A magazine, maybe a cheeky glass of something cold and bubbly, and lots of scented bubbles.

The magazine provides entertainment and distraction while your muscles relax. The cheeky glass of bubbly needs no explanation but will provide a nice counterpoint to the heat. And the bubbles save you having to look at your naked body.

Herself sees having a bath as a kind of necessary torment, but I come from a family of bathers, and love having the time to soak in a hot bath. I'm sure it's really bad for my skin and nails and all that but it's not like I do it everyday. And sometimes we all need a few minutes to ourselves, in the peace and quiet, with just bubbles for company. Bring on the weekend!