RIP Favourite Teapot

My passion for tea is well-documented. For the last 15 years my 10 cup a day habit has been largely serviced from a little blue-spotted tea pot, bought from Whittard after my mum's very wonderful friend Judith initiated me into the magic of her Earl Grey and Ceylon leaf tea blend. It's had a place in the kitchens of three houses, been with me though growing and feeding two babies, saved my sanity on many long afternoons with small children, and been privy to more kitchen table gossip than I care to dwell on. It kept me going as I slogged through writing my first book, and bravely fuelled the writing of ten more over the years that followed. It was pretty battle-scarred, and latterly held together almost entirely by tanin stains (I hate to think what my insides look like.) Until I dropped it on Sunday evening, that is, since when it hasn't been held together by anything.

Sniff.

I have a replacement. It's probably a bit prettier, with pink roses that haven't been dulled with layers of tanin. But it's Just Not The Same.

Hello from the Hermit's Cave

Just thought I ought to stick my head out and let everyone know that I haven't frozen to death at my desk in my chilly attic study, or become buried under drifts of Kitkat wrappers and post-it notes. Or been bundled off to the asylum, hallucinating about being eaten by giant commas and question marks.


Having cleared my diary of all appointments and been rude ruthless in my refusal of all invitations to hang out with friends and generally do nice stuff, I am writing. It's a bit drastic, and not exactly a laugh a minute, but after a few months of distraction, displacement activity and being stuck at 25k, and with no official deadline to scare me into staying at my keyboard until the small hours it's the only way. And it is working. The age-old Idea is growing into a book, with proper chapters and some kind of structure (which will obviously need to be completely overhauled in the second draft, but la la la - what?) and Pretend World has conveniently swallowed up Reality in a way that makes writing so much easier. 


On the downside, squalor reigns on the domestic front, the daughters' birthdays are largely being sponsored by Amazon and Ebay, I have an ironing pile you could ski down, hair like Dumbledore (without the beard, thankfully)(I think - it's been a while since I looked in a mirror) and a wardrobe full of clothes that seem to have shrunk two sizes. And a long way to go until The End. 


Oddly enough, I'm loving it.