If I ever decide to do away with The Australian, I can guarantee that the murder weapon will be a tea towel, if only because it is very likely that there will be one to hand when I finally flip.

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Meandered early into Godalming today in order to get a car parking space, but actually at 10am-ish it wasn't too bad. I'd been expecting far worse. I wandered around the shops for a while and stocked up on jumpers and other essential winter items, and also spoke to the people at Godalming Museum. The good news is that I think we have a launch date for Thorn in the Flesh of Wednesday 27 February in the evening, hurrah!

The (totally unrelated) bad news is that I had my usual annual eye test today and - after much embarrassed coughing (well, the optician is really very sweet) - it transpires that I have moved far enough into my executive years to need reading glasses as well as my usual ones. Sigh! He doesn't think I should go for the bifocal option due to the amount of stuff I do on the computer, but he suspects that over the next two years I will probably need variefocals (sp??). However, for the moment it's two pairs and a zimmer frame. Oh, sorry, that last item just crept in there ...

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Today, like yesterday, is cold and sunny. Makes a difference to the way we think and act. Christmas is close and yet I've not written a card. They keep coming through the letter box and I feel a little ashamed by my lack of enthusiasm. Writing should be an enjoyable experience or a creative one. Still, if I didn't receive cards I'd probably feel most put out. Monday night is scheduled for decking our hall, lounge etc with baubles. Maybe, after that, and when the lights stop popping out, I'll begin to get in the mood. Maybe.

In the space of just over twelve hours, there has been elation and deflation in New Successful Writer's life! It all began at quarter to five yesterday evening. That was when Hubby rang me at the office in a state of huge excitement. "I have just had a phone call from Lorraine!" he cried (who is Youngest Step-daughter by the way). "She's taken delivery of a special little package!" . Now bearing in mind Youngest Step-daughter has a baby due on 29 December, my initial rush of excitement was one of the Proud-Grandmotherly kind. Boy? Girl? Weight? Name? That we have already been told - not least by Grand-daughter herself - that the forthcoming baby is male fell by the wayside for a few seconds. "It's your book!" crowed Hubby, inadvertantly scattering all thoughts of New Grandchild. "The print version!"

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Had our first puzzle card of the season yesterday – we do always seem to get one we can’t interpret, at least for a while. Is this just me or does everyone have this problem?? Anyway, the card in question appeared to be from someone called “Sulele” and the note inside read “I’m still working on Boris & Horace. Enjoying it very much.” The plot was thickening in a suitably mysterious manner so I asked Lord H. He read the card, put on his best Russian accent and said: Ah, I am working on Boris & Horace, but I believe they will crack soon and tell me everything they know. Hmm, it’s this sort of response that makes me wonder about my husband sometimes … Thankfully, I’ve now worked out who it’s from – one of my friends who writes children’s books (hello, Angela! – what wild writing you’ve got!) – so MI5 are unlikely to be calling round. Yet ...

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Anyone who's ever hung around in an online writing forum knows that, apart from religion and politics, the subject that's guaranteed to start a ruck is 'the rules'. Whole sites have been embroiled in the fallout, as people attack and defend and take up entrenched postions. Those sites which are already cauldrons of spite, jealousy, and obssessiveness have been known to be brought down altogether. And when people have their cherished rules disproved, example by example of acknowledged good writing, their distress - though it may take a defensive form - is very obvious.

So what are these 'rules'? Generally speaking, they're the easy-to-remember things about writing that many aspiring writers get told are the key to writing better, by teachers or fellow writers or how-to-write books.

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Every now and again, the gods are smiling. That’s how I felt today when I strayed across an almost mint 1984 edition of Michael Moorcock’s Dancers at the End of Time volume (see ‘currently reading’). I’m a huge Moorcock fan, partly because there is so much still to read but mostly because of the stories themselves.


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I'm playing the Old Red Lion Theatre near Angel tube next tuesday 18th and wed 19th dec.at 9.30 me, my piano and a lot of fun .... then with my brother on 27th and 28th ... then on 5th of January we launch the two man musical "Not the life I ordered" at the same venue. Any singer/actors interested in performing a two man musical comedy next year can see it here and learn details of our extensive plans.
Dezy..

Funny dreams last night – I dreamt I was walking down our road, but it was in the Jurassic period, so there were huge numbers of strange leaves and trees instead of houses, and dinosaurs playing in a field. With other people. Odd indeed. I must remember not to work till 11pm too often. Mind you, it wasn’t frightening – just rather unusual. But what does it all mean?? I dread to think.

The first frost on the car today, groan. However, noble Lord H had already scraped it off by the time I came out of the flat, so he gains huge numbers of Husband Points, which I’m sure will last right till next year. Still ruddy cold though – but I accept he can’t do much about that. In fact, it’s so cold that I’m sitting in the office wearing my scarf and fingerless gloves. Amongst other items of clothing of course. If I want to go to the loo, I have to add my coat and hat, and run like crazy before I freeze. Hey ho. The exercise must be doing me good ...

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We went last night to watch The Golden Compass, the big screen adaptation of Phillip Pullman’s superb His Dark Materials sequence. I thought it was watchable enough but I did feel a little disappointed. It all moved a little too quickly, and the characters weren’t built up nearly enough. Something gets lost along the way...

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