I would perhaps have settled for that full stop, it all felt so immovable beyond, if Barry hadn't come and sat on me. A cat is a great motivator; once they're sat, it's a terrible shame to move them. The immovability of cats, as opposed to the immovability of the bleeding edge of fiction: discuss. (Hint: the sharpness of a cat's claws is not metaphorical.)
Anyway: I wrote. And then had coffee, too late; and went to town and wrote more in the Lit & Phil. And then went to the watch-fixer's stall in the market, where he told me that it would cost £25 to service my watch, with no actual guarantee that that would fix it. I said I was afraid of that, and I could probably buy a new one for that. And then went off and bought two for twice that, which I like to think makes my point for me. So now I have a new wrist-cuff with a watch attached, as I like them, and I also have a little pocket-watch for my jeans fob pocket (who was it among you who suggested that I should have a pocket watch? 'Fess, thou...! For this is your fault entirely), which was pretty much as cheap as it looks, given that I managed to cheat a buy-one-get-one-cheap offer (it wasn't supposed to apply if one of the watches was reduced, and my cuff was half-price, but I blindsided her with my complicated shopping skillz), but it's really only a trial run: if I like it, I'll be looking for a serious pocket watch later. When I'm in funds.
Meanwhile, of course, my old watch is suddenly working again, so I'm still wearing that. I could have a watch on each wrist and one in my pocket, but I've never really cared that much about the time, y'know? Just so long as I'm not late. It's useful to be aware at conventions, just to ensure that one is not. Which is why I didn't want to go to F'Con with just one watch that kept stopping.
And then I came home, feeling that three o'clock was perhaps a little late for lunch but hey, I'd been distracted; and then I wrote again. And then my co-publisher dropped by with books for F'Con (for yes, I will be hand-selling Phantoms at the Phil, and if you don't already have vol 3 you should bring a tenner, because you are so not leaving without it) and news that his edition of Hanns Heinz Ewers' short stories is nearly ready for press at last; more of this anon.
Meantime, I have been writing more; and I have opened a bottle of wine, which is a little lethal, because once it's been opened you know it won't keep, and I have to go away tomorrow. So. Onward. Every full stop is an open door, into the next sentence. Oh, yes...
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