So, it appears we have had summer – in February.
February is usually bitterly cold here, with a prevailing east wind that blows right through a body and frost enough to shatter anything optimistically left outside on the washing line. No need to thaw the underpinnings this year!
The conservatory became summer hot, so I left the doors open in order for the scents wafting from my early-burgeoning herb garden to fill the house with fragrance.
Unfortunately, the farmer thought that it was a good idea to spread his fields with muck so what the house actually smells of is eau de cowshed/pigsty.
I forget who wanted to live in the country. I’m told it was me but I’m not sure I believe everything I’m told.
As soon as the smell cleared I took my work outside. I do wonder if that and the fact I dug out the parasol has anything to do with the change in the weather.
It’s raining today and I have no excuse but to sit down and get on with some writing. Books do not write themselves. they need blood, sweat and tears as well as a pain in the nether region from sitting too long. Oh, and copious amounts of tea.
Corona Books has just put out a call for submissions for their third anthology of horror stories. It’s time to get tweaking and polishing.