The Landlady finds method in the madness

I am still in Norfolk trying to write my book and, over the course of the past two days, I have realised that I am absolutely brilliant at something. That something is, alas, not writing, but procrastination. It is already midday and I’ve only written 423 words which, I have to admit, is 422 words more than I wrote yesterday before midday. However, in spite of a slow start and much messing about, I managed over 6,000 words yesterday and am hoping for the same today, leaving only a mere 20,000 to go.

When I awoke at 9am this morning, it was hailing so hard that it looked like someone was throwing buckets of ice at the windows of the shack I’m staying in. I made a cup of tea and sat and watched the storm, while worrying slightly that the sea, which was sending foam over the cliff top, might come and sweep me away before I’d started writing. I wrote a bit, then in a moment of distraction, I made a film of the storm with my camera, because it was such spectacular weather. As a treat, I might email it to The Boyfriend later to show him how much I’m suffering for my art.

In a break in the hailstorms, I quickly got dressed and went running – inland – as a beach run would have been rather challenging, not to mention insane, in this weather. I passed through the village on the way back and spent 10 minutes chatting to the woman in the chemist while purchasing nail varnish, then bought a dressed crab, one of the last of the season – from the woman in the pub car park, with whom I also unnecessarily shot the breeze. Or in this case, gale force wind.

“I am going to eat the crab for lunch, by which time I still won’t have written anything”

I am going to eat the crab for lunch, by which time I still probably won’t have written anything. In the local shop, I realised it must be Saturday as the I newspaper was 30p, so I treated myself to The Guardian, which will be further reason to not start writing. The local shop had a promotion where one could purchase three ready-made Mojitos in a can for £3.50, so I bought three Mojitos and, as something of an afterthought, two sachets of Horlicks. I think I might be going mad. The Small Daughter told me on the phone last night, that people who spend too much time on their own go mad, then die.

Charming. There is method in the madness though, because my book is all about South America, so I’ve been playing loud Latino music while I’ve been writing and the three Mojitos can only help things along further, although I’m not allowing myself to drink them until after 6.30pm, as they may well lubricate my talent for procrastination, rather than writing.

Later, I plan to go and use the internet in the local pub, where I am sure, just like last night, the locals will stare at me and whisper, possibly viewing me as a slightly insane stranger…They don’t know how right they are.