Now for a lot of people, excluding that select group that write about gardening, it’s the other way round. They love gardening, and may well object to their writing time cutting into their chance to do a spot of gardening. For me, though, gardening is something I absolutely abhor. I love to sit in a well maintained garden, and I’ve even been known to take the laptop outside and do some writing there – but the actual maintenance, that comes much closer to “Jeeves – find me a gardener, pronto.” Not that I have a butler, manservant or maid, nor would I ever have one, but the idea of someone else doing the hard work of looking after the garden definitely appeals.
Anyway, enough of me blathering on about the ills of gardening, especially as I do not wish to jinx the current spell of reasonable weather we’re having, after such a miserable spring, too, let’s talk about the writing.
I’ve actually hit 3,040 words today, working in three distinct spells, one before breakfast, one straight after lunch, and this one that I’ve just finished, ahead of cooking dinner. In between of course, that dreaded gardening.
Still at least some things have been done, now, if only I could find the key to the shed that contains the lawnmower… Or to be precise, if only Marion knew where I’ve hidden that particular key…