The situation whilst I’m on holiday with my Partner: generally, I’m exhausted when I arrive. Too knackered for anything more than Radio Six and unconsciousness. We blobbed about half-nine, caught some of the Wreckless Eric session on Gideon Coe before everything went black. She goes out to work, leaving me a list of jobs to do before she gets back. I come round sometime after nine, intersperse the work with the writing, before taking a drift into town for some shopping. I’m writing this in a noisy boozer, surrounded by shouting occasional singing and horse-racing. Lots of horse-racing.
I’ve gone through the whole of Scat’s Excretainment this morning. Two solid hours of decaffeinated coffee and mind-mapping, a whole year of fiction-blogging, ground down into half a dozen or so sheets of gaily coloured paper. I have to say, I’m feeling pretty damn positive about it right now. Knitting together all the characters and disparate sub-plots can do that to a guy!
It’s been a pretty productive day. I’m on top of what I set out to do (both on a mundane level and a creative one) and tonight Mistress has said she wants to be fed, bathed and pampered. The beer’s almost finished and Farmfoods beckons.

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