We have germs. Littlest Laddy and me. Of the contagious, snotty, spluttering variety. Which means? Well it means a few things.
1) All I want to do is slob out in my bedroom sucking KitKats, binge-watching reruns of Peaky Blinders between slipping in and out of snotty consciousness.
2) What I’m actually doing is waiting hand and foot on a 3-year-old menace who is:
- Fit enough to terrorise me with demands to pull a Lego Egyptian mummy Hulk birthday barbecue party castle out of my jaxy and provide back to back exposure of kids’ YouTube mostly featuring grating theme music and squeaky, brightly-coloured adult humans I’d happily beat to death with their own arsenal of plastic superhero toys
- Not fit enough to go and do three hours of nursery with other, equally snotty and contagious 3-year-olds.
3) I’m feeling grotty and a little bit sweaty which is the worst because I only usually sweat when I'm agitated. So this in itself is making me a bit more mental even though I suspect the sticky palms are just down to the germs, or more likely, that voice of responsibility currently kicking its toe against the back of my skull tutting ‘turn the sodding central heating off, you doughnut. The back of the house is NOT weather-tight. Did you not just read that gas bill? You are literally THROWING HUNDREDS INTO THE STREET…
4) I am feeling disproportionately sorry for myself, mainly because point 1) is even more depressing given one year into this renovation, Knighty and I STILL. HAVE. NO. BEDROOM. Plus, I’ve already eaten the emergency KitKat stock.
5) I am achieving nothing with my day. And it’s a Monday. And Monday’s are for, like, as in the law, getting shizzle done... before all determination, motivation and desire to...
- Start writing book 5
- Get another room renovated
- Stop scoffing KitKats and get fit(ter)
- Become a volunteer
- Learn a language
...start to thin as the week limps on.
6) Meh.
And I should point out, I’m not even that ill. On the lurgy scale, I’m probably ranking at about a 3. The hankering after KitKats and Tommy Shelby is a bit of giveaway. (If you're well enough for food and perving...)
I'm just being a bit of a flake. I think it must be this weird inbetweeny stage I'm at with Perfect Strangers. I don't usually get quite so much time between finishing writing a book and its publication. It's making me feel a bit fidgety and useless, and I guess a bit redundant. Like I should be doing something useful, but really my part is done. Millions of hours poured into 100 or so chapters. Now I have no more tweaking to do. No more cutting and rewriting. So it's just me and the sounds of the house then. And Jesse coughing over his weird YouTube toy videos. While I waste a whole day.
Anyway, things have already started brightening up.
Jesse’s just put his order in for cheese and broccoli bake for dinner, (little toerag, I knew he wasn’t that ill either), Knighty’s just walked in early with a few bags of skim, which means (dare I dream it) something around this knackered old house is about to get plastered! (Better than actually sharing a KitKat with Tommy snog-my-face Shelby) and…
And…
AND...!
I’ve just heard from my agent that my new book is coming out as an Audiobook too! Which should go down well with my fellow, snot-faced sisters out there, who actually do have their own bedrooms to lollop in, and who might not like Peaky Blinders at all and who would much prefer to lay back and listen to my next booky offering without even having to turn a page.
Who knows, if Knighty gets a crack on, I might even be able to waste another Monday in the nearish future flopped on my own bed in my own finished, weather-tight bedroom listening to my own blummin audiobook.
Now that'll be a Happy Monday.
