I just checked the
date of the last post on this blog and it’s the 28th March 2014. It’s just over
six months ago, and it happens to be the day when my wife and I moved with our
eight month old son to our new house.
It wasn’t far. The
new house is in the same village as the old house. It’s probably no more than a hundred
metres as the crow flies. That didn’t make it any less stressful. It was
pouring with rain. The sellers were late moving out. The boy was tired and grumpy.
Then we got the
keys, walked inside, and had one of those oh
my god moments. We had a lot of work
to do. In comparison to replacing the leaking conservatory and the ancient boiler,
fixing dodgy taps and dripping cisterns, changing carpets, painting outside and
inside… In comparison to this, blogging didn’t seem that important. Nor did
writing books. Or even reading them. Even my beloved twitter account lay
dormant for a long, long while…
Sometimes life just gets in the way, but I’m pleased to say
that this particular slice of life is now over. The house is cosy and functional and ready for the
winter storms that already seem to be whistling around my new office in the
attic. I got the new novel out again today, dusted it off, and started writing.
I’m half-way through reading a cracking Jack Reacher and I might even have
restarted twittering... and next month, I’m going to blog about writing again.