It’s been a funny old day today, but, now I come to think about it, a day much like any other day. Except that I don’t get mistaken for a stalker every day. But you get my drift.
It’s funny how things work out, though. My evening student ended up definitely not being there, which meant (in theory, at least) I could have gone home at 10.00 this morning when my first job finished. But if I had gone home I probably would have ended up going to Chelsea and Ikea with my daughter, my wife and her sister, which, though a delightful prospect, would not have included much writing.
As it is, my journey home was the most productive part of my day. It took about eight and a half hour of sustained procrastination, Jimmy Carr-style avoidance and even a little light evasion (Brits will know what I’m talking about), but I finally had a rush of inspiration which, though not yet down on paper, has definitely laid the mental groundwork for the rest of this book (three more chapters, if I’m not mistaken).
I’m past my writer’s block (oh, how I hate that term — but what else could it have been?). I can see clearly now the rain has gone. And now there’s a pile of dishes and three uncooked chicken breasts waiting in the kitchen, and a wife who’s just come through the door. So I’ll hang on to that thread of inspiration and hope it’s long enough for me to follow through to tomorrow.
When I will definitely, definitely … do something else that urgently needs doing.
And then I’ll write the chapter!