The Book Shed is now finally in place at my new abode (soon to be joined by the living wagon still under construction), so I’ve got a new view to inspire me. What more could a writer living on the knife-edge of insecurity ask for?
The Book Shed is now finally in place at my new abode (soon to be joined by the living wagon still under construction), so I’ve got a new view to inspire me. What more could a writer living on the knife-edge of insecurity ask for?
In the space of four days – the week before last – I was on the red carpet at the Olivier Awards, building a new living wagon that’s going to be my new guest bedroom, erecting a fence in my Dad’s chicken pen, embarking on a mammoth cleaning job in my newly acquired home (which hadn’t seen a hint of a damp cloth or a squirt of Jif in 15 years but has a remarkable view) and performing as a willing but inexperienced chimney sweep…
…and of course slaving away with the final edit of THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER tetralogy.