So here I am in Corca Dhuibhne, the extreme end of Ireland's Dingle peninsula, trying to write. And what I really want to do is walk down the hill and see Spot and the pups. So, instead of concentrating on Chapter 5, I'm starting this blog. Mainly so I can upload this photo.
Oh, good, being Ireland, it's just started raining, which means I definitely can't wander down the hill. Not without coming back and trying to write surrounded by dripping clothing. What I actually need to do is buy those waterproof trouser things I keep longing for when my wellies start chafing the back of my knees through my sodden jeans.
But no, what I really actually need to do is get on with some work. Look at Spot, though. There's a mother counting the hours till her offspring move on. These days she's desperate to get back up the fields with the tractor. Jack only has to walk out the door and she's out in the road suggesting he might check on the cows.
Now it's just stopped raining - this is Ireland, weather changes happen fast. And it's good for the back to take breaks from the computer. And it's coming up to lunchtime, so I could go and make a sandwich. And then go and visit the pups.
Which reminds me of the story about the pushy socialite who met Daphne Du Maurier at a party. 'Do you know dear Lady Bloggs?' asks the socialite, who's an aspiring writer. 'Such a sweetie! She's lent me her chateau to finish a book!' 'Heavens!' says Du Maurier, probably blowing smoke-rings, 'what are you reading??'