lap dog 8 April 2009
I saw a woman with the perfect lapdog today and I felt a pang – it’d be great if the G could travel with me. But that ain’t for cats, my friends. Having said that I believe they can be trained to walk on a leash and a wee man who drank in my Dad’s local (called Murty) and his cats followed him along the street like dogs might follow their owner. The G is in rude good health according to Richard. I had to blag an inhaler at the airport last night as I’d spent my doctor’s fee for a new prescription earlier on Herself so why wouldn’t she be feeling grand – the Wagon!
I’m having a mare with interent access at the moment – my trusty UK system has turned to pants. Looks like I’ll have to change provider and that’s such a hassle – also I have no idea how to go about all that. I have a plug-in mobile thingy that the laptop (not as good as a lapdog, methinks) now refuses to recognise…hmmm…and I haven’t got the necessary disk to download recognition info anymore and the website isn’t carrying it anymore. A day of phonecalls beckons where the other half of the conversation coming at me will be full of terms that sounds like BLAHBLAHBLAH to me…
And there’s the set of galley proofs for the mass paperback version of MISSING YOU ALREADY calling to me for IMMEDIATE attention.
And the new book is languishing and moaning a bit from the computer file at me too.
Tomorrow is KNUCKLE DOWN time.
