Hi, that’s if there’s anyone left to
wave to. Been away from here for months and for the past six, the beginnings of
my third book have chucked out everything else remotely to do with writing.
Anyway, winter’s hovering over the old house; autumn’s already here, but so
far, tentative. Not like last year, all wind and blustery rain; fingers crossed
for our Indian summer to keep on going. Time left for me to put the garden to
bed, cut the grass one last time and oil my chainsaw ready for logging time.
From my study window and without
dripping out too many superlatives, the forests and hills are all dressed up in
golds, russets and red berries. Our damson trees are overloaded and so is my
belly. Hide underneath and reach up like a monkey; every time a damson, every
day a belly-ache until they’re finished. Have apples too – open the side gate
and it’s a race to see who gets there first. Jones is little and quick as a rat
up a drain pipe, hits the tree at a full run and like some furry
ground-to-fruit missile, bombs through the lower branches. Hardly ever misses.
Holly and Star thunder up neck and neck; Holly watches and rumbles out instructions
to her brother who has finessed the art of apple snatching. Always takes two;
one for himself and one for his sister – leaves us the top ones, but only
because the greedy sod can’t reach.
Enough rambling. Re my books... just let loose the paperback
version of Sons of Africa on Amazon. Cover’s stunning and the page colour, we
decided on cream – easy on the eyes. Sincerely hope it sells as well as its
eBook siblings; got to be more to life than living on damsons and doggy apples.
You all take care and I promise to blog more. Going downstairs for a bacon
butty; no damsons – ever again.
Talk soon.
