Monday, 4 July 2011

Back in the Word Shed again

Last Autumn, with great fanfares – well the odd muted trumpet – food and champagne, we opened the Word Shed and I spent a few happy weeks out here in the intermittent sunshine and fresh air, crafting the second Luke Ballard book, “The Taste For Treason”. And very enjoyable it was, too. Then three things happened. The weather deteriorated, winter arrived in all its ferocity and Paul, bless him, bought me an iMac.

The winter put paid to many things for many people. We had so many broken arms and wrists here on the coast that the local hospital couldn’t cope, almost every palm tree snuffed it in the -18 degrees freeze as did 3 of my 6 fuchsias and the snow and ice took its toll not just on the flooded basement, but on the roof of my shed, which, when the thaw came, sagged alarmingly.

It wasn’t too bad until the weather began to improve and I had a longing to sit out among the burgeoning greenery and feed my creative side looking at the clematis Montana tumbling over the fence in front of the shed doors. It was not to be. Not until last week when a dear friend and all round good egg looked at the roof, went and bought wood and made it safe again.

Was that the end of my problems? Well, no. You see, the shed had been shut up from November through to June and there was the issue of
S P I D E R S…….
Those who know me well know that I don’t put these creepy-crawlies on my best friend list, or even the nodding acquaintance list. They go on the ‘don’t show your face – or legs – near me, or you won’t live long enough to regret it’ list. The problem with spiders is that they can really run and I have no idea what primeval instinct makes me fear them, but that’s how the cookie crumbles, or, as we say in Europe, that’s how the Mercedes Benz.

Enter St George in the form of my husband who really doesn’t like them any more than I do, but is considerably braver than me. He went round with the vacuum cleaner and a long hose. And so, I type this looking out at the sunshine and the trees, listening to Vaughan-Williams and thinking that, really, life doesn’t get much better than this.

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