I've got bloggers-block.

Ignoring it doesn't seem to make it go away, so I've decided to take practical action and Google "How to clear a blockage". Here's the advice:

1. Pour a bucket of warm water into the pan - from a height would be best. This often clears minor blockages.

Right, here goes with a warm gush . . .

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Delighted to see that Alex Beecroft, author of Captain's Surrender (a high-octane fun read!) has put a review of A Dangerous Man on the US Amazon site - and as they don't stock it, here's the review:

“A gorgeously written, tense and creepy book, combining a love story and an artist's passion for his work into a force that makes the narrator of the book a very dangerous man. Not for those who like their fiction fluffy, this is a real work of literature.”

Thanks, Alex! And I was trying so hard to be fluffy ... ah well ...

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Took advantage of the unexpected gap between bouts of torrential rain today to go for a walk around Ockham Common. Very nice it was too, although the noise levels from the M25 are pretty dire. Such a shame. Due to the wind, we didn't see too many birds either, though we did spot a kestrel (hurrah!), robins, chaffinches and something that Lord H said might have been a female blackcap (they're red on top, confusingly) - though I must admit I failed to notice that one. I also had a moment's sheer panic when my Wellington boots got stuck in what appeared to be a swamp, but Lord H nobly rescued me before the mud came up beyond my neck. Swoon! What a hero. I hadn't even realised we had swamps in Surrey ...

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I really have to say that yesterday's trip to the theatre to see Our Friends in the North was an utter disaster! It was dreadful. For a start it lasted nearly four hours with only one interval, all the characters were completely unappealing and we seemed to have the same short scene over and over again, only with different people in it. Um, yes, we caught on quite early that the theme was politics and corruption, but we didn't need to have that message drummed into us more than twice. And really there was no humanity in it. I do have to say that by the time we'd all dragged ourselves to the interval, we could take no more - so Lord H and I left in order to run, screaming, to the hills. We just couldn't face another two hours of it. There was one glorious moment though - when the woman in the scene just before half-time suddenly said, "Do you know? I think we've been here years. I'm terrified we'll never get to leave ..." and I don't really know whether that was scripted or not. Either way, I'm sure we all felt the same. Shakespeare it ain't ...

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Rachel Cusk has been a favourite author of mine ever since I read A Country Life. She is about to publish a new edition of her non-fiction book on motherhood, A Life's Work.

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Whoopee! I earned a little money from three separate sources this month - all indirectly connected with my writing.


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Wow..what a beautiful warm, sunny day! Yesterday was like winter, and I wonder what season tomorrow will choose..

I finished my final draft illustrations yesterday for a little picture book I've written and emailed them off to the publisher that showed some interest..and the wait begins again.

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If you're wanting a taster of Thorn in the Flesh, ie the first two chapters to whet your appetite, the lovely people at the Storytellers' Cafe have very kindly posted it here (see full post for link!). Enjoy! Also huge thanks to Felicity who calls the excerpt "fantastic and compelling". Gosh, thanks, Felicity! That's certainly made my day.

Which, all in all, has been very nice really. I had a lovely two hour facial and back massage today at the Clarins salon at the Guildford House of Fraser. Wonderful. Honestly, I feel like a new woman afterwards. Lord H will be pleased. And my therapist even bought a copy of Pink Champagne and Apple Juice, so what a sweetie indeed. My cup runneth over ... Oh, sorry, that's just the way I'm dressed ...

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Like many writers, I spent much of my childhood telling myself - sotto voce if no one was around, or in my head if I might be overheard - the story of what I was doing as I did it. It wasn't a commentary, exactly, at least not in the sense of commenting on my actions as someone else would: it was more that putting my life into words brought my existence into focus as nothing else did. I guess in a family which rated books and words and talking beyond almost anything else that ordinary life contains, it was hardly suprising.

On the MPhil in Writing at Glamorgan, four times a year, all the students and tutors travel down to spend a Friday and Saturday workshopping their work. Starting from the hours on the train, or in the motorway service station, when you read and mark up the thick booklet of everyone's writing, through the readings, workshops, tutorials and hours in the pub, you're living, breathing and thinking in words. On the Sunday, I used to get up early to drive up into the Brecon Beacons, clamber onto a horse, and spend a day riding.

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