Third time pays for all
Feb. 21st, 2011 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceAnd this is the third time today that I have done this: come into the Lit & Phil from outside, come downstairs, shed my jacket, opened up the Laptop of Heavenly Perfection and made the poor thing work.
First time was my regular morning visitation, no surprise. Only I had to leave early, to wrassle with the bank; I hadn't even made a thousand words, and I need two thousand a day, every day this week. At least.
So I went home and invented lunch (sossidge and camembert toasted sammiches: one was not enough, I had to go back for another, and I recommend them to your attention), only then I came back into town rather than settling into work at home. Back here, and wrangled another couple of pages; then went up to the other end of town where I was engaged to meet Mark and help him play the dutiful uncle. [Helen has a niece studying Fine Art at Northumbria, and tonight was the opening of the second-year show. Niece's parents were due to come up from Selby, only her dad had a towelling-his-feet accident and put his back out (stop giggling at the back! Dean is one of the fittest men I know, and it is totally Not Funny) (well, all right, just a little, maybe) and her mum can't drive and Helen is at work so it fell to Mark to represent the family. Mark and me.]
So we did that [and oh glory, it is thirty years since I hung out with art students, and they haven't changed, except that I don't believe we were ever that young], and then Mark went off to his Spanish class, and I? I have come back here. I have an hour before they close the library and I have to go to the pub. I can write two more pages in an hour, indeed I can. I need only stop footling about on the internets, and get down to it.
*footles*
First time was my regular morning visitation, no surprise. Only I had to leave early, to wrassle with the bank; I hadn't even made a thousand words, and I need two thousand a day, every day this week. At least.
So I went home and invented lunch (sossidge and camembert toasted sammiches: one was not enough, I had to go back for another, and I recommend them to your attention), only then I came back into town rather than settling into work at home. Back here, and wrangled another couple of pages; then went up to the other end of town where I was engaged to meet Mark and help him play the dutiful uncle. [Helen has a niece studying Fine Art at Northumbria, and tonight was the opening of the second-year show. Niece's parents were due to come up from Selby, only her dad had a towelling-his-feet accident and put his back out (stop giggling at the back! Dean is one of the fittest men I know, and it is totally Not Funny) (well, all right, just a little, maybe) and her mum can't drive and Helen is at work so it fell to Mark to represent the family. Mark and me.]
So we did that [and oh glory, it is thirty years since I hung out with art students, and they haven't changed, except that I don't believe we were ever that young], and then Mark went off to his Spanish class, and I? I have come back here. I have an hour before they close the library and I have to go to the pub. I can write two more pages in an hour, indeed I can. I need only stop footling about on the internets, and get down to it.
*footles*