All by myself - socks on my head and an illiterate poltergeist

I've got the house to myself now.  Oh, it probably won't be forever, but certainly for the foreseeable future it's me, three dogs, five cats and enough slugs to make the carpet look as though it has the sort of interesting raised, silver pattern that you would be delighted to see on any book jacket.

This isn't my exact carpet, you can tell from the lack of stains, but this is the approximate effect

And you know what?  It's FANTASTIC!  Being alone, not the slugs.

No more trying to set a good example to the children by putting washing away immediately, clearing bowls and plates, tidying up after myself!  No more watching incredibly rubbish TV because of 'majority decisions'. No more writing with one eye on the clock, waiting to be disturbed.

I can now live like the utter slattern I really am.  My inner slob is running free (and quite often un-underpanted, because the dogs don't care what I'm wearing)!  I can eat nothing but sandwiches and cereal if I want! (I don't, because I don't much like sandwiches, but I can if I want to, and that's what matters).  I can wander around the house in nothing but a dressing gown and a pair of socks on my head....actually, no, I've always done that, it's part of being a writer, sorry.  I can buy a packet of biscuits and they are still in the cupboard when I want one!

More to the point, I can write whenever I want to.  Apart from the necessity of going to work to actually earn money, the rest of my time is completely my own.  Of course, this means that I sit down with the full intention of working (that Christmas novella isn't going to write itself. I know this, because I've tried leaving the laptop switched on when I wasn't around, and the only words that appeared were 'Gnfugggjjjjjjdfjkl;afe  ngerw231123'.  Either a cat on the keyboard or my poltergeist is illiterate) and look up four days later to find that my tea has gone cold and I've read my way through the entire Fortean Times message forum.  And I still don't have any pants on, my socks are still on my head, and the postman is poking me with a stick through an open window because he thinks I might be dead.

The cup of tea in question. Yes, I know it says Coffee on it, but I'm spontaneous like that

.

So, if you'll excuse me...it's been nearly thirty years since I last lived on my own, and I've got a backlog of eating rubbish and watching 'Rosemary and Thyme' to catch up with...

I don't think the SAS are going to be ringing any time soon...

I DID IT!!!!

Swinging over that barrier and leaning back over a 270 foot drop was really scary - the ground seemed to take forever to arrive, and I was terrified that I was going to freeze and just hang there, rotating gently whilst occasionally clonking against a window.

Fortunately none of this happened, although I do remember stepping on the CLV logo as I went past and wondering if it would just pull away from the side of the building...

..and I refused to look down, but, out of the corner of my eye I could see the road, and either someone was shoving Dinky cars down it or it stayed a long way down for a very long time.  I didn't so much 'abseil' as 'do a reverse Spiderman' and sort of scramble down the side of the building.

But I am truly, massively grateful to all those of you who sponsored me, messaged me or just generally encouraged me in this mad event.  If I ever show signs of doing anything like this again, please lock me in the understairs cupboard until I come to my senses, though.

They take a picture of you as you go over the edge.  I think so you can frame it on the living room wall and occasionally point to it in a random manner going 'THIS! THIS!'

And if you've ever wondered what a 'rictus grin of terror' looks like - that one, right there.

I had to run through Leeds to catch my train, and twenty minutes running with a backpack, wearing a coat was a piece of cake compared to dropping 270 feet, but I must apologise to everyone who saw me arrive at Leeds Railway Station, bright red and sweaty but with a post-abseil glow, I think they may have thought I'd just robbed a warm bank...

A Writing Day (yeah, write...)

The other day I found myself writing an article for a magazine on My Writing Day.  Well, I say I 'found myself', it wasn't like I woke up and there I was at the laptop or anything, I'd been asked to do it...  Anyway, it made me realise just how boring a writer's day actually is...

' My Writing Day'

Wake up at six (eight) and go for two mile run with the dogs. (Run for one mile because it's downhill. Flail the rest of the distance).  Home to nutritious breakfast and see to the other animals. (gasp over doorstep, eat any food lying on work surface.  Let out hens and feed cats). 

Shower and sit down to laptop.  Answer fan mail. (Realise small cat hasn't turned up for food. Spend half an hour banging tin plate with spoon in garden). Write a thousand words of latest manuscript, then spend a strictly rationed thirty minutes on social media. (Stare at blank screen for an hour. Give up and flick through Facebook and Twitter.  Get involved in on line argument about East Enders plotline, even though don't watch it). Build in a twenty minute Pilates session to keep body flexible. (Eat HobNobs). 

After a light, balanced lunch of steamed veg (more HobNobs), walk the dogs again, wandering picturesquely through the local landscape (with lovely picture of North York Moors in sunshine)

Like this..

(After watching three back-to-back episodes of Time Team, drag dogs reluctantly out in the rain. Paddle through thigh deep mud for a while.  Realise never had a shower this morning and now smell). 

..only more like this

  Dedicate the afternoon to ordering notes on the WIP, colour-coded on Post Its and little cards, to ensure chapters are in the right order.  Place highlights on printed out version, where things need work. (Check listings to see if there are any more Time Team episodes on. Drink more tea.  Flick in desultory fashion through latest WIP before being distracted by Mumsnet.  Have shower, catch sight of own face in mirror and spend ten minutes practising having eyebrows). 

Off to bed at ten (eight) with a cup of herbal tea and a 'classic' novel, to read for an hour before lights' out, sleeping with a notebook and pen beside the bed to capture any 'middle of the night' ideas. (Fall asleep face down on the Fortean Times, wake with brilliant idea but no pen. Scribble in what I think is felt tip. Wake in morning to find have written 'AARRRRGGGHHHH...WINDOWS!' in eye pencil on Fortean Times page).

Do it all again the next day.