RADIO SILENCE

Not spoken to my mother in a week, not called, not heard from her. 

All for the best. Am back writing and all she does when she gets me riled besides making me feel like I'm having a heart attack, is disturb my train of thought. Mentioned this to Bonnie, who says all fine there, not to worry, is best to let some time go by and clear the air until Peg forgets she's pissed off at me (for no reason, might I add). Mostly I'm grateful for the break although it has crossed my mind that while I'm over here calmly typing away being momentarily happy, they're all busy at her lawyer's re-doing her will so that everything goes to that collie kennel in upstate NY. I am sure Bonnie would give me the heads up though. 99.9% sure. Sort of. She's got her hands full at the moment though with her husband being rushed to A & E with heart issues at 3 AM, and I think has now been transferred to Springfield, so Bonnie's leaping to and fro on zero sleep. I wish her luck. With John and with Peg. We all know how hard my mother is to deal with, even after having a full 8 hrs and being drugged out of your mind on Xanax.

Realtor going over to see the house this week so we're both on the same plane. It's hard to describe what I'm up against there, stuff-wise, unless you see it. Am leaning towards either a few million dumpsters or dynamite, and keep thinking about that string of Trap Rock Gravel Co barges that used to pass my island when I lived in Stony Creek, and what a shame it is I can't get them up the hill to Becket.

Half term week in Suffolk. Village a nightmare. Cars streaming in. Alex has worked 11 continuous double shifts at the Anchor and is knackered. DK playing some golf but mostly being useful at home: has now gone through every file and folder in his office, every drawer, every cupboard, and chucked what we don't need anymore or is no longer applicable i.e. massive folders all about insurance on former London flat, piles of (mostly unlabelled) music CDs for village productions he has already saved on computer, approximately 9,000 golf magazines--it's all looking good up there. Organized. Filed. Labelled. Whew. He can now drop dead on the 7th hole and Alex and I will need only days to plough though the paperwork instead of years.

DK's memoirs have now finally gone to printer, who will soon send me a sample, I will find 12 million errors, it will go back--and so on. Actually, by this stage there will (should) only be printing errors to spot (lines missing or repeated or not indented and so on), not my own fuck-ups (i.e. spelling Wilshire thusly, correctly, then Wiltshire two sentences on..etc). Then we push GO. Get the PR guy back on board, get it all listed with hot links on DK's website, get the mass marketing announcement out. I reckon 2 weeks. This is paperback, Kindle and epub versions. No news on audio version, which is out of my hands. Sadly.

And am now 60 pages in writing one of 3 novels on my list To Complete. Taking longer than expected because I am up and down like a yoyo rescuing those bumblebees who fly down the chimney, as I might have mentioned, and am finding it rather challenging to type with Mabel sitting on my lap chewing a rawdhide strip, and then out the window a garden beckons to be tended and watered and pine cones to pitch over the hedge and coffee to be made and scones to be eaten--excuses excuses. But I'm liking the story. So far. But I tell you who won't. Peg. The Amazing 306 Year Old Lady.  Who may indeed have "invented sitcom" and be a "genius" but I, for one, don't give a hoot in hell, at this moment in time. She's been not very nice to me, after all. And she should be.