Not blogged now for? can’t remember – only that the past few days have been a bit of a blur. Been editing again: I know; I just can’t stop doing it: it has the same effect as a bottle of gin, or that other thing we do that makes us go blind. At last, though, my second novel is ready to be sent off to my agent: I use agent in the loosest of terms, as he happens to be a son who resides in Sweden. He does everything for me: not that I’m disabled: although if one could have heard the Skype conversation we had at the weekend, you would have thought I was suffering from Alzheimer’s.
It’s like this, you see, I cannot fully fathom out this blog business and I hit a wrong key which sent everything haywire and me panicking. In the end he had to take over my computer and I had to find another password. Why can’t you get up off your arse to learn some new computer skills, you might be thinking. Well, my philosophy is, delegate: that’s my favourite word along with extrapolate – I love that one. Why should I do it when I can get someone else to do it for me, I have better things to do; it would be like watching paint dry.
Now back to why I am writing this blog: two days ago I -not me, by the way, my agent – substituted the second edition of Tale of Two Women, taking off the first edition in which there were two typos and a couple of commas missing or needed to be extracted. I found them myself, no one told me. You will also notice; under my instruction; he put the novel on my home page with a link. I couldn’t have done that in a month of Sundays. But I do love delegating. All my family say I’m bossy – had to be – you can’t control a class full of stroppy 15 year olds if you are the shrinking violet type, they smell fear. And my daughter-in-law, married to my oldest who is a Gulf War veteran, threatens him by saying she will tell his mother if he misbehaves. It usually works. I may have a hard shell but am really marshmallow inside. I am about to digress now; close your eyes if you don’t want to watch.
I am taken back to when I was instructing offenders on a painting an decorating programme. I had this one offender, a giant of a Glaswegian who towered over me by about 8″, he scared the crap out of me the first time we met. Before doing any work whatsoever, he asked if he could leave early. I thought, oh, no, he’s trying it on already. I asked him why, and he told me. I asked if another member of his family could do what he said he had to do. Then he threw the best curved googly ever, ‘give me a shovel and I’ll dig her up,’ he said. After extrapolating on his life-story, some of which I already knew, I let him leave early. Needless to say we got on like a house on fire after that. He too was a pussy-cat dressed in a bear’s clothing, but he was someone who had been dealt some very bad hands. There were others, but they were not willing to play by the rules, like expecting me not to notice they were smoking weed in the toilet. Oh happy days.
Enough reminiscing you say, so I’ll stop, but its got me thinking about another book, perhaps an autobiography, but although my life has been interesting and there have been numerous funny moments, it might not grab others. I’ll have to think about that one.
PS. I was informed this morning Sweden had over twelve inches of snow overnight, but this morning after the snow-ploughs had been out all night, all the roads and paths were clear. Makes you think of our beautiful country where two inches will send the country into melt-down and everyone putting down their tools. It seems two inches can make an awful lot of difference.