Zeal, all zeal, Mr Easy...
Dec. 12th, 2006 04:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI guess this is the kind of day that gets better as you go along. It's the upside of multitasking, that one by one you do get to tick off those tasks and move on.
First thing this morning, I was preparing my application for this year's Northern Rock award - in the utter certainty that this year I shall not win it, but applying is a social and professional duty, so I do. At least I make the buggers turn me down.
And Barry helped, by fishing paperclips out of the box as I needed them. Ooh, shiny...
Then into town, to proof the last hundred pages of "River of the World". Two down, one to go, proofwise...
Then on my slightly-less-than-direct way home, via the Xmas market, I bought a brace of wild duck; which I will joint and bed down with cabbage and red onion and russet apples and a little smoked black pudding and perhaps a splash of wine, these being things that I have, and set to pot-roast slowly for my supper. That might be nice.
And while that does its gentle thing in the oven, I can get back to this year's Xmas ghost story, which I started last night. At the time I had little clue about it, except the title - "The House of Mechanical Pain", if you remember - and the orrery. Oh, and the opening line: "I used to think that wealthy friends were best." So, yesterday a thousand words just to move people into place; but walking home from town today, I understood that actually it's not about the orrery, it's about Victorian photos and the sins of the fathers and how they are indeed visited on later generations. And hair. And, as previously stated, clockwork inevitability. And such.
And in the meantime, Barry is still helping. "Ooh, look, Chaz - see how the shiny little things cling to my claws! See how they scatter o'er the carpet!" Yes, Barry. See, see how I pick them up again...
First thing this morning, I was preparing my application for this year's Northern Rock award - in the utter certainty that this year I shall not win it, but applying is a social and professional duty, so I do. At least I make the buggers turn me down.
And Barry helped, by fishing paperclips out of the box as I needed them. Ooh, shiny...
Then into town, to proof the last hundred pages of "River of the World". Two down, one to go, proofwise...
Then on my slightly-less-than-direct way home, via the Xmas market, I bought a brace of wild duck; which I will joint and bed down with cabbage and red onion and russet apples and a little smoked black pudding and perhaps a splash of wine, these being things that I have, and set to pot-roast slowly for my supper. That might be nice.
And while that does its gentle thing in the oven, I can get back to this year's Xmas ghost story, which I started last night. At the time I had little clue about it, except the title - "The House of Mechanical Pain", if you remember - and the orrery. Oh, and the opening line: "I used to think that wealthy friends were best." So, yesterday a thousand words just to move people into place; but walking home from town today, I understood that actually it's not about the orrery, it's about Victorian photos and the sins of the fathers and how they are indeed visited on later generations. And hair. And, as previously stated, clockwork inevitability. And such.
And in the meantime, Barry is still helping. "Ooh, look, Chaz - see how the shiny little things cling to my claws! See how they scatter o'er the carpet!" Yes, Barry. See, see how I pick them up again...