The Landlady is damned with good intentions
It is midwinter and I am back in Katy’s cliff-edge holiday home in Norfolk labouring under the vain hope that I can finish writing my book. In a brief period of respite between howling blizzards, I managed to get here rather more successfully than anticipated, by means of two trains and a local bus full of screeching school kids. I even managed to stop off at Lidl – not my usual choice of grocer, I can assure you, although I’m rather warming to it – and buy a week’s supply of healthy foods. Now, with six feet of snow piled up against the door and a black sea crashing beneath a grey sky outside, I am wishing fervently that I’d bought biscuits and crisps to snack on, as the unhealthiest item of food in my fridge is an avocado. The local shop is not too far away but might as well be on Mars, so impenetrable is the weather at this moment. Dancing On Ice doesn’t even get close. I am perched in an armchair in very close proximity to the radiator with the boiler turned-up to unheard-of (for me) levels and I’m still freezing.
“the unhealthiest item of food in my fridge is an avocado”
During a break in the blizzard this morning, I managed – hero fashion – to go running and almost disappeared down a completely hidden ice-hole on the cliff top. Bleedin’ rabbits. I went to the local greengrocer on the way home in order to buy more healthy food – oranges in this case – and was amazed to see that what appeared to be the entire village was there buying their fruit and veg. I am heartened to learn that in some places, people still seem to prefer to shop local, as the way things are going, there will soon be no local shops left. I am sure that the weather has had more than a little influence on where the locals are shopping, which is definitely a good thing.
My initial plan had been to return to Brighton next week half a stone lighter and bearing a completed manuscript on my laptop. However, although I have now been in situ for almost 24 hours, I have not done a stroke of work. All I have developed is a craving for chocolate digestives and I keep eyeing my recently purchased oranges with disdain.
Still, on a brighter note, I remember that last time I was here writing part two of the book, I never really managed to do any work until after midday, in spite of getting up at 7.30am. I am hoping that a similar miracle will take place on this visit. As long as I don’t put the TV on or go to the pub, it will all be okay.