Back To The Real World
Michael went back to work today, which meant no writing for me. Which is a shame, because I'm at the stage where, if I could lock myself away for four or five days, I could probably finish it. I know lots of people manage to write novels with children underfoot, but I'm so not one of them. (Evie is hanging off my elbow at this very moment, begging for a cuddle, so I won't be here long...)
So, Michael wasn't here, and it was hot (Alice just came in and asked if she could have a stray key-tag; now they're fighting over the key-tags) so we just sat around, reading books and knitting and making pompoms and watching the video of The Railway Children. (Evie is now pestering me for a key.) I love The Railway Children so much, just putting the tape in the machine made me cry. "Oh, stop it, Mum," said Alice, rolling her eyes. "It's not sad."
Last night it was dying baby elephants on the television that set me off. I must be in need of catharsis or something.
Evie wants me to attach her key to her tag. Better go.