I woke late this morning after going to see a 10pm showing of Iron Man 2 last night and I had a message on my answer machine.
When I called back it was the local allotment manager to offer me a place on their allotment list. These places are like gold dust and I applied in October. I was so excited but then I realised that with all the recent surgery I'm probably not going to be able to put in the physical work required, so I've had to ask him to put me back on the list with a note about why I can't accept.
I was so disappointed. But maybe one day I will have my own house with my own garden which I can take my time to develop and nurture. Is this displaced broodiness? Probably.
The dream would be to live in this quiet little village near us with these Victorian redbrick cottages which look out over the village green. I go through there on the bus and think it would be such a lovely place to live. However. I'm unlikely to ever be able to afford these. Lottery win please!
On a more positive note, I spent the other day bashing out a plot on index cards. There are still gaps (gaping holes?) in places and I have yet to do anything in terms of "proper" writing, but it is a start.
I've decided I need to sort out a defined writing space so that I don't get distracted by my other half (its mostly been football noise this weekend seeping into my brain) and I've already started operation declutter to help get my desk fit to use for writing. I've got storage being delivered from Lakeland and Argos next week which will hopefully create a more zen environment for me to write in.
I need to get some giant poster frames to get my Mucha prints put in to display. This will make me happier.