journal of a writing man

“Now then, Dolly,” I said at about six-thirty this morning.  ”We’ve had our breath of morning air and our little drinkies.  What do you think I should do now, have a little nap or write my journal?”

We went for the nap.

Graham phoned at 08:05, waking me from a dream in which Dolly played the central part, ably assisted by a wild rabbit and a very slender little Harry Cat.  Graham was sympathetic, and apologised profusely:  ”I guessed you’d slept in but I was a little concerned about the floods and gales in Wales.”

“No need to worry,” I said.  ”Our little valley has been completely sheltered from the wind, and although it’s hissed with rain on and off for twenty-four hours, it’s all run away down the valley and out to sea.”

“Right.  Good.  Go back to dreamland, then, and we’ll talk later.”

“Oh no,” I said.  ”I really do have to go out today, so I’m glad you woke me.”

A little while later, having drunk my coffee and read my mail and newspapers, my eyelids started drooping again.

“Oh dear, Dolly,” I said.  ”I’ve come over all droozy. What do you think I should do now, have a little nap or write my journal?”

We went for the nap.

When I woke, finally, somewhere around mid-day, Dolly was snuggled up beside me, sleeping as sound as something that sleeps very soundly.

I slipped out from under the covers, popped my pillow into the void I’d left so’s Dolly wouldn’t miss me, and stirred myself into action.  Shave, shower, and deep dental cleaning and I was ready for a coffee before braving the elements.

I made myself a jolt of coffee, looked at the clock, and decided I’d best hang on for Graham’s after-lunch call.

I finally reached Swansea at 14:10.

It’s been a strange day, and now I’m home safe and sound, business transacted, shopping done, I think it’s about time Dolly was woken, gently, from her day’s sleep.  Trouble is, I’m feeling just a little droozy.

I think we’ll go for a little nap.

Garden flowers