Sorry for the blog being so late today, but I ran out of time yesterday and didn’t have time to write it. Well, that’s not strictly true. After all, this week I have had nothing but time, but I was engrossed doing something else all day Saturday and time got away from me.

But first, a health update. As you know, I was due to return to work last Sunday after my two weeks off with Covid. I thought I’d be okay, I was feeling better, so I figured I’d manage a short six-hour Sunday shift with no problems. I thought wrong.

For a start, the sheer physical logistics of getting up, showered, and ready to leave the house for work exhausted me. I was opening the shop and trying to remember everything I was supposed to do gave me a headache. The shop was very busy and just so peoply. I found myself feeling stressed and anxious. I began to cough. I coughed a lot. My colleagues were not very happy with me – but weirdly the customers didn’t seem to care. The day dragged on. The headache got worse, as did the cough. Constant nausea that has been one symptom of the Covid ramped up a notch until I was gritting my teeth convinced I was going to hurl any second, but at the same time, I was ravenously hungry. And I was exhausted, utterly drained physically, mentally, and emotionally, all I wanted to do was crawl home and fall asleep on the sofa.

My boss had the day off as it was his daughter’s birthday, but I think someone must have told tales out of school because at 3pm – an hour before I was due to leave – the phone rang, and it was him.

HIM:  You’re still coughing, aren’t you?

ME:  Umm, only a little bit.

I then proceeded to have a monumental coughing fit down the phone that left me wheezing tearfully at the end of it.

HIM: Right, go home, now!

ME:  I’ve only got an hour left.

HIM: Doesn’t matter, go home now.

ME:  Oh, but…

HIM: NOW!

ME:  Okay. (actually quite pleased about it)

HIM: Don’t come in tomorrow until I’ve phoned you.

ME:  What?

HIM: I need to speak to head office about this, so stay home tomorrow and wait for my call.

I went home, wondering what the outcome would be of his consultation with the powers that be. Sunday evening, I couldn’t stop coughing and I knew I’d overdone it. My joints were aching and although I was hungry and wanted dinner, the feeling I was going to throw it back up again was horribly persistent.

Monday morning. I had no idea what was going to happen. Would I be going in at my normal time? Would it be a later start for me? Would I be going in at all? Uncertain, I got ready for work anyway even making my packed lunch and putting it in the fridge. I figured if I didn’t go to work at least my lunch was already made. At 10:30 my boss phoned me. We had a conversation. During which he expressed his own and the company’s concerns that I had come back too soon. That for the physical and mental well-being of my colleagues it was felt that I needed more time off. I had already come to this conclusion myself. Waking up on Monday the very thought of having to summon up the energy to drag myself back into work made me want to burst into tears so the offer of another week off filled me with absolute relief. Yes, the lack of pay was going to be a bitch, but sometimes you must put your health first. So little is known about this virus, but with any virus – not allowing sufficient recovery time can store up problems for the future.

We chatted and it was agreed I would take another week off and return to work the following Monday. Technically, I was supposed to telephone my boss every day but as he was going to be on holiday he requested that I didn’t, and really, what would be the point of me disturbing him just to cough down the phone.

So, Monday morning I stood down and contemplated another week at home.

It has been a week of doing absolutely nothing beyond the barest minimum to stay clean, fed, and the dishes and laundry done. I focused on getting better and because there was nothing else I could do; I threw myself wholeheartedly into finishing book thirteen.

I started to write on Monday with a word count of 153,781 and by the time I wrote The End on the manuscript on Thursday, it stood at a whopping 181,476 words. This means I wrote 27,695 words over those four days. That is not too shabby, even by my standards.

I thought I had finished it on Wednesday afternoon. I wrote an ending. Walked away. Then it niggled at me that the ending didn’t satisfy, that more was needed. I went back. I wrote another short chapter. This one tied up some more loose threads, but I still wasn’t happy with it. Over 500,000 words spread over three big books I have asked the readers to come on a journey with me. And now the journey was ending, it needed to end in a way that would make people happy. I went to bed Wednesday night still pondering. Waking Thursday morning the idea for a fiendish little twist in the tale suddenly occurred to me. Something that would jerk the reader awake. They would think the story was over, then this last chapter would be thrown at them, and their emotions would be thrown back up in the air and hopefully, their heart rate would increase.

I wrote that chapter. Was I now done? Yes, it was a solid ending, but … I felt Lili and her friends deserved better, so I sat down and wrote a little four-page encore that is actually called that – Encore. It’s a sort of where is everyone so many years down the road kind of thing and I love it.

And then the book was done.

I can’t believe it’s finished, that The Perennials Trilogy is finally done. The idea for this set of books about three women called Lili, Daisy, and Rose first came to me about fifteen years ago. In a flash, I saw the whole path these women would take. I wrote the first book Becoming Lili fifteen years ago but told no one other than a few close friends that I had plans for it to be a trilogy. Then life got in the way, I wrote other books, and although writing the rest of the trilogy was always on the cards, it got relegated to someday.

In 2016 I finally started writing Chaining Daisy but broke halfway through it to edit and publish other books I’d written over the fifteen years since I wrote Becoming Lili and write book two in the Blackwood Family Saga – Fixtures & Fittings.

Early 2018 I picked it back up again and Chaining Daisy was published in the summer of that year. It was well-received, and I had to finally confess that it was book two of a proposed trilogy so there would be a book three coming along, sometime. Then I got busy with other books and my busy author life and didn’t even think about starting the third book until summer 2021.

And now it’s done, the trilogy is complete, and I must confess to mixed emotions. On the one hand, I’m happy and relieved the tale is finally told and that I have one complete series in my portfolio. But on the other hand, Lili and her group have been my friends and even my family for fifteen years. That’s a long time to walk around with the lives of characters buzzing about your brain. I will miss them. Will there be more Lili in the future? Possibly, or maybe their children will carry on the torch for them. After all, Becoming Lili starts in the 1990s so the next generation will be the right age to feature in any contemporary novels I write so who knows. Never say never.

Friday morning, I sat down at my laptop and with the very useful Word find feature I went through the manuscript looking for crutch words. These are words such as just, suddenly, really, felt, moment, immediately, definitely etc … words that sneak in but aren’t absolutely necessary and can drag the writing down. (An example of this is in that last sentence – absolutely wasn’t necessary – the sentence would have made as much sense without it.)

Pleasantly surprised how few crutch words I had used – really used only eighty times in a 181,476-word document is not too bad – I whizzed through and sharpened up the book and removed about 500 words in the process.

Friday afternoon was my zoom authors meeting and it was great chatting with everyone. This group of women have saved my sanity during the weird times we are all living through, and it’s so wonderful to have other authors to talk to.

Saturday morning, I was awoken at 6am by the lodger very noisily leaving the house to go to work. I’ve concluded there’s no point saying anything to him about it. He’s just one of those men who are noisy and don’t even realise they are being so. Luckily, it’s only once or twice a week and I’m an early bird anyway.

I lay in bed and realised that I was wide awake. Not only that, but my book was calling to me. Other than going back over the chapter I’ve just written; I haven’t read the whole book at all whilst writing it. I needed to do a complete read through from beginning to end to see how it all hung together. Did it make sense? Did the plot flow? Do the characters maintain the same voices all the way through? Most of all, is it any good?

When I was writing it I honestly didn’t know. I was too close and couldn’t see the wood for the trees. But reading it through yesterday – I read the whole 180,697 words of it tweaking it in places and sharpening it still further – I’ve realised it is good. Well, I think it is anyway.

Then I tackled pagination. Page numbering a Word document is something that is either incredibly easy or incredibly hard. If it’s a simple thing and you want it to start with page one and work its way through to the end with a number on every page then it’s easy. But, if you have section breaks with an illustration at the start of each section that you don’t want a page number on then it becomes a whole lot harder. I know how to do it but sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. Taking a deep breath, I made sure I’d saved the document everywhere first, then I started.

After a few sticky bits and me swearing at Word, it was all going swimmingly – until I hit the last section – that little four-page encore bit, and there the computer said No. It didn’t matter what I did I could not get that bit to paginate without it either sticking page numbers on the pages I didn’t want it to or, even more annoying, deleting all the page numbers it had managed to insert correctly.

Finally, I gave up. It’s 90% done so when the lovely Becky Wright at Platform House Publishing goes through to tidy up my illustrations she will no doubt see in a flash what the problem is and will fix it for me.

Struggling with the page numbering, I suddenly realised it had got very dark, and that I was hungry, and when I looked at the time it was almost six and I’d been sitting at my laptop almost without moving for twelve hours! I’d had a bacon sandwich for breakfast at nine, but that now felt a very long time ago and my stomach was protesting.

Switching on lights and the oven, I searched for something quick and easy. I had a mushroom and camembert pie in the freezer, plus some fat chips. With some peas or something that would do. I was too hungry, and my brain was too buzzed to bother with anything else. Waiting for the oven to warm, I started going back through the book to check that inserting the page numbers hadn’t thrown everything out of alignment. It had, so I had to tweak paragraphs to make the chapters the right lengths again.

Obviously, when you put in a page number it takes up a space at the bottom of the page that might previously have contained the last sentence, so it pushes that sentence to the next page. That might not sound like a big deal, and if your chapter ends near the top of a page or even halfway down, then usually it’s fine, there’s room for the chapter to spread. But if the chapter finished near the bottom of the page then that line being pushed could mean that suddenly your chapter ends with one or two lines at the top of a blank page. Which I don’t like. It’s messy and looks unprofessional.

Engrossed in checking the book and tweaking where necessary, I did remember the putting it in the oven part of my dinner but sadly forgot about the taking it out part. By the time I thought about it my chips were on the crunchy side and the pie had a very blackened crust. Forgetting about the peas – I didn’t have time to wait for them – whilst my ruined dinner cooled down enough to eat I had one last look through the manuscript then saved it and sent it to Becky. She has a window in her busy schedule to beta read it for me next week so she will be the first person other than me to read it.

And now there is nothing more I can do about it until the feedback comes back from Becky. My other two beta readers have said they will be ready by mid-December to have the book sent to them to read over the Christmas period and I will be realistically looking for feedback from them next January. Making amendments, and a final readthrough and then writing the blurb will all happen during that month and then I will be looking at possibly a February publication.

And what’s next? Book five of the Blackwood Family Saga. Being such short books of only 50,000 words means I can produce one of those in a fraction of the time it took with this latest book, so I’m hopeful of writing that between working on the edits and publishing the third Perennials book so will be looking for an April publication for that. I try to publish a Blackwood book each spring. After that, I plan to write the sequel to Erinsmore as it’s long overdue and I know readers are waiting for it. But after that, who knows…

And now it’s Sunday morning and I am very aware it’s gone nine and my blog still hasn’t been posted. I am sorry, but writing a book is a bit like being pregnant in that your mind is distracted and everything else gets forgotten about.

Today I need to bathe the tortoise and clean out his box and I need to touch base with my boss at some point. There is my bed to strip, laundry to do, and I must ensure all is ready for my return to work tomorrow. To my surprise I’ve sold a video that has been sitting on eBay unnoticed for almost a year now, so I need to get that ready to be posted and try and figure out the new system of being paid that eBay has installed since the last time I sold anything on there. It’s annoying that the buyer chose to buy on a Saturday evening when the post office is shut on a Sunday, and I must go to work Monday, but I’m sure I’ll sort something out.

Take care everyone, sorry this has been a bit of a boring, book-obsessed blog, but it’s been a book-obsessed week. Hopefully, what with going back to work, I’ll have more to chat to you about next week.

Julia Blake

No blog this week, because to be honest, what with being at home under strict quarantine I don’t have very much to talk about. I have spent the week writing, which was wonderful, and coping with the symptoms of Covid, which was not so wonderful.

I am feeling much better, but the cough is lingering and sadly I appear to have lost my sense of smell and taste. I’m hopeful they will come back, especially my taste. As you know, I love food and not being able to taste anything is dreadful. To not be able to smell bacon frying or taste it is grim, and one morning I had tea with off milk in it because I couldn’t smell the milk had turned, nor taste it had. It wasn’t until I was halfway down the cup and realised that the texture of the milk was odd that I recognised what had happened.

Everything tastes beige now.

I’m back to work on Sunday for three long days, which is a shame. I think I’m going to be very tired after two weeks of not doing very much, and the virus has wiped the floor with me, leaving me drained and fatigued. Today (Saturday) I have concentrated on making sure I’m ready for three days at work, so have arranged three easy cook meals and made sure the house is up to scratch. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back but have already sacrificed half a month’s pay to this virus, I can’t afford to lose any more.

Apart from feeling so ill, it has been wonderful being able to write all day and every day, and over the two weeks, I’ve been in isolation I have written almost 50,000 words which is incredible. The book is almost finished. Maybe another 20,000 words or so and it will be done.

My lodger doesn’t appear to have the inner resources I have and has been climbing the walls to get out. I thought he would want to be a little more sociable because we were trapped in the house together, but he seemed to want to be left alone and refused my offer to watch a film together or play cards or something, so I let him get on with it. The second the quarantine was lifted yesterday he was out of the house and didn’t come back for a couple of hours. He’s also back to work today which he was excited about.

Miss F was released from her quarantine at midnight, and I think she’s very happy to be back in her room surrounded by her friends and able to cook her own food. The food the university supplied her with – when they remembered to feed her, that is – wasn’t very appealing.

Am I weird that I enjoy being home so much? Maybe if I wasn’t a writer and didn’t have such a rich and varied online life, then I would feel the effects of cabin fever as well. It’s not even as if I sat and watched TV all day because I was too busy to even think about turning on the TV until I sat down to eat my dinner in the evening. No, what with frantically writing, reading, and spending time on social media, I didn’t have time to even think about whether I was lonely or bored.

Having Covid again, especially after being double jabbed, has made me afraid though. I think like many people I had grown a little complacent but being so ill from it this time around has made me extremely cautious. I will continue to wear my mask at work and if I go into shops. I will go back to collecting my shopping instead of going into the store. I will stay away from people because I don’t know where they’ve been. This whole sorry experience has taught me that even though I’m vaccinated it is possible to catch the virus again and be very ill with it.

Please take care everyone and apologies for the shortness of my chat. See you next week.

Julia Blake

It’s been a helluva week, and I don’t quite know where to begin. As I told you in last Sunday’s blog, I went to a party on Saturday and it was a late evening, so I wasn’t too surprised when I didn’t feel so great the next day. Self-inflicted, I told myself, as a headache nagged in the middle of my forehead, I had an upset stomach and felt a bit chesty and wheezy.

By the evening, it seemed a full-blown chest infection was settling in, which I could have done without. Never mind, I thought, I’m not back to work until Wednesday so hopefully, that will give me time to shake it off, at least enough so I can go back to work. Yes, I know going into work with a chest infection isn’t fair, but sadly with the UK sick pay being the joke it is, you are not exactly encouraged to do the right thing. If you call in sick, then unless you work for the government, the council, or kind employers, you will receive no pay at all for the first four days! After that, you will receive a paltry £3.50 per hour which is certainly not enough to pay the mortgage or any bills so you can see why I was keen not to have to take time off work.

I tried to take it easy Monday, although the bathroom and kitchen needed a thorough scouring and the floors washing. I didn’t realise how ill it would make me feel. Collapsing onto the sofa when I was done, apart from cooking dinner, I didn’t move for the rest of the day.

Tuesday, I woke up in a world of pain. The cough simply wouldn’t stop. Brutally hacking, it felt like my heart was trying to punch its way through my ribcage – like that scene in Alien – and my joints were all throbbing with pain. Sitting at my laptop that afternoon trying to write, I was disturbed by my lodger tapping on the door with something in his hand.

I’m so sorry, he said. I’ve just taken a test and it’s positive. I’ve got Covid.

Shit!

I took a test. It was an instant positive. Bugger. I waited thirty minutes to be sure, but the second line didn’t go away and besides, it explained how I was feeling. I phoned my boss to report the situation. Right, he said, you’re off self-isolating for ten days, go on the NHS website and order a PCR test just to make sure and keep me apprised of what’s going on. I ordered a PCR test. Then I sent Miss F a message. An hour later she hadn’t responded, so I phoned her.

ME:  I’ve got Covid, take a test.

HER: Shit!

ME:  I know, sorry, but take the test.

She took the test. It was positive. She phoned student support and within ten minutes had been frog-marched from her accommodation to an isolation pod on the other side of the campus. Given barely five minutes to get together enough belongings to see her through ten days in isolation, she was not very happy at all.

Everyone she had come into contact with since returning to university Friday evening had to take tests – they all came back negative so at least she hadn’t infected anyone there. I telephoned the hostess of Saturday’s party and told her what had happened. I phoned my parents, told them to take tests, tried to contact anyone else we’d been in contact with the week Miss F was home. But the weird thing is they have all come back negative, so we didn’t catch it from any of them, but, more importantly, we haven’t infected any of them which is a relief.

I have no idea where we got it from or who infected who. I know the lodger is blaming us. And I know that he thinks the cough Miss F came back from university with was Covid, even though I have assured him it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. She’s had that cough since mid-September and the Covid cough does not last continuously for six weeks. Also, at university, they are tested three times a week before they are allowed to attend lectures or social events. Her tests are always negative. Finally, she took a test on the 21^st before coming home on the 22^nd so she didn’t bring it with her.

It’s possible she picked it up on the train coming home, but if that’s the case then somehow she managed to only infect me and the lodger and not a single other person she came into contact with. We could have picked it up the day we went to the beach – after all, it was crowded with idiots not wearing masks. It could have been when we went charity shopping on Thursday. Again, the shops were rammed with people not wearing masks. If we did get infected Thursday, then it’s a miracle we didn’t infect my parents because we went out to dinner with them that evening and got pretty close to them, but they are negative. None of my work colleagues has tested positive so I don’t think I picked it up at work.

It is entirely possible that the lodger picked it up and gave it to us. After all, he has been travelling on public transport to Cambridge for work. He works in a supermarket that is always full of people. He is busy blaming us – oh, not in an outright nasty way, but there have been insinuations plus it’s not my fault he has a really loud voice when he’s on the phone to his friends telling them what has happened – but there is a very real chance that he brought the infection home from work Thursday evening and Miss F and I picked it up Friday morning. It would explain why nobody else we saw that week has been infected.

Tuesday was a bad day. I can’t remember the last time I felt so ill. So much for the vaccine reducing your symptoms because if these were reduced, I dread to think how I would have been with full-blown Covid.

Supply wise I was okay-ish for food, but it was fresh stuff I was going to have an issue with. I went onto the Tesco website and to my relief was able to book a home delivery slot for between 4-5pm on Thursday. Worried about the lodger – I knew he didn’t have much in the way of food in the house – I told him I’d managed to book a delivery slot and would be doing my shopping list Wednesday afternoon. If there’s anything you need, I told him, you’re welcome to put it in my basket so it will be delivered and then pay whatever your shopping comes to into my bank.

Wednesday morning and my PCR test arrived. Read all instructions first, it told me. Well, I’m normally an “instructions are for wimps” kinda girl, but on this occasion, I thought I’d better do it by the book, so I read all the instructions and was pleased I had because talk about a complicated, pain in the arse, procedure. It didn’t help that I don’t have a smartphone so had to manually type in all the ID numbers, barcodes, and unique reference numbers that could otherwise have been scanned in. Although when the lodger did his later he told me that the scanning process hadn’t worked on his phone, so he’d ended up having to do it all manually as well.

Once it was all done, I was instructed to post it off in the nearest priority post box as shown on the map. There was one just around the corner and this is the conundrum – being in quarantine I’m not allowed to leave the house, but this had to be posted back to them ASAP! There was nothing else for it. I put on my mask, kept my head down, walked as quickly as I could to the post box avoiding the few people who were out, posted it off, and scuttled quickly home.

Mentally, I feel fine so at least I’ve been able to make the most of this enforced time at home and work on my book. It’s physically that I haven’t been faring so well. No temperature, or at least not that I’ve been aware of, and I haven’t lost my sense of smell or taste, thank heavens. No, my biggest woes were the brutal cough, the joint pains, and the fact I’ve coughed so violently and for such prolonged lengths of time I’ve bruised or wrenched my rib cage and spine. I’ve been informed it is possible to fracture a rib coughing, but I don’t think I managed to quite do that, although it bloody hurts like I did.

Poor Miss F isn’t faring any better. Although her symptoms aren’t quite so bad she is stuck in a tiny room all by herself with no fresh air, barely room to swing a cat, and no food. The university is supposed to bring her food, but they keep forgetting, and even when they remember it’s not very good food. One pot of cold chips for a whole 24-hour period is not exactly enough to keep body and soul together. And of course, I can’t get out to do anything to help her!

Thursday I telephoned my Mum, she was out and about in her village so popped into her local shop and bought a few snacks for Miss F and hastily posted them off guaranteed next day delivery so at least she would have something!

As the time of my Tesco delivery approached I made my plans. I would have my shopping bags and a laundry crate standing by the front door ready to decant my groceries from the delivery boxes into. I would wear my mask and gloves. I’d already put in the delivery instructions that I was self-isolating with Covid and please could the driver ring the bell then stand well clear. Surely, that should all be safe enough. I had a horror of spreading it any further than I already had.

Just gone three-thirty, I heard a van outside. Surely that wasn’t him? He was early. Frantically, I scuttled about the house gathering up what I needed. He got out of the van and wandered up and down the round, before heading over to the flats and peering up at them. Confused, I opened the door and called over to him.

ME:  Are you looking for me?

HIM: Are you number____?

ME:  Yes.

HIM: Oh, I wasn’t sure, I couldn’t see your number.

Oka-a-ay. Now my number features a lot on my house. It’s carved into pieces of slate twice on the gatepost. It’s on the bin. It’s on the door. It’s on a decorative plaque on the wall. And it’s on foot high numbers set into the glass above the door. But whatever …

I prepared my bags as he went back to the van and dragged out the first boxes. He came up the steps and tried to carry them into the house.

ME:  What are you doing?

HIM: Carrying the boxes in for you.

ME:  Didn’t you see the note that we have Covid in the house?

HIM: Well, yeah, but…

ME:  So, that means you shouldn’t come in.

HIM: Oh, well the other four Covid sufferers I’ve been to today made me carry their shopping in.

Whattttt?!

No wonder infection rates are spreading! Surely, common sense should have said to this guy no matter how kind and helpful he wanted to be – going into the homes of people who are self-isolating with Covid is not a smart idea! Presumably, he is then rocking up at some vulnerable old granny’s house and carrying her shopping in – what a kind young man you are – with her blissfully unaware that he’s been into four plague pits beforehand!

I looked at him over the top of my mask. He looked at me – his mask was across his chin. Slowly, he put his mask on, put the crates down on the step and went to get the rest from the van. I started loading my bags, emptying the crates by the time he returned and stepping back so he could swap the empties for the full ones.

HIM: Anyway, thank you for wearing your mask and gloves. None of the others did.

And that right there is precisely why we’re in the state we’re in. The other Covid victims he’d been to presumably think that as they already had the virus and couldn’t catch it again, well, not right away, there was no need for them to wear a mask, or gloves, or keep their distance because THEY couldn’t catch it. Never mind they might infect the driver who will then take it back and potentially infect all the other drivers, his family, his friends, and presumably any other poor sod who had a home delivery after those selfish articles.

He left and the lodger appeared to help me take all the shopping – mine and his – into the kitchen to be sorted. He had taken me up on my offer to tack his shopping list onto mine because it made sense.

Thursday evening, Miss F messaged that my parents care parcel had arrived so she had some sustenance in her prison cell. At least prisoners get three square meals a day plus exercise. I wished I could do more for her, but without being able to leave the house, wasn’t sure what I could do.

Friday morning, I awoke with a brainwave in my head. They sell food on Amazon, I have a Prime account so if I went on and ordered some snacks and treats for her, they would deliver them on Saturday direct to the university for free. Brilliant! As soon as I got up I went onto Amazon and ordered some cereal bars, crisps, and lactose-free chocolate to be sent to her. I know Miss F’s friends have been leaving food, drink, and other essentials on the doorstep of her pod, so between us, we would keep her from starving.

At lunchtime, I received an email with my PCR test results – positive. Not that it was a shock. I forwarded it to my boss as per instructions so it could be sent to head office and put on my file. Then Friday afternoon I had my normal zoom meet up with my local authors’ group. It was wonderful to speak to them. I’ve spoken to quite a few people this week – the lodger, my parents, Miss F, the Tesco delivery guy – but it was so nice to sit for a couple of hours, coffee in hand, and just shoot the breeze with them all. Afterwards, I made a healthy spicy beef and veggie chilli from scratch feeling it would do me the world of good.

And now it’s Saturday. So far today I have written a few more words of my book, messaged Miss F, and even spent ten minutes in the garden bagging up the enormous pile of leaves that the lodger swept up yesterday. He has had fewer symptoms than me, plus I don’t think has the inner resources I have, so was bored, and wanted to get out of the house. He asked if there was anything he could do in the garden, I said he could sweep up all the leaves if he wanted, so that’s what he did. He left them in a big heap at the bottom of the garden, so I figured I better bag them up before a strong gust of wind threw them all over the place again.

I have chicken in red wine for dinner tonight, which I’ll do with plenty of veg and roast potatoes as a treat. Luckily my appetite hasn’t been affected and I haven’t lost my sense of taste. I’m not sure about my smell. I’ll have to wait until my nose isn’t so blocked up to see if that’s been affected. I’m in quarantine until next Thursday and then must present a negative test before I’m allowed out. I’m not sure if that means a lateral flow or another PCR though. Hope it’s only a lateral flow test I have to do; I have those in the house and they’re relatively easy to do – not like the complicated PCR ones.

I can’t believe I’ve been infected again, after all, I am double jabbed, but that made no difference. I think many believe if they’re jabbed that they’re immune to being infected, well let me tell you, you’re not. You can catch it, you can pass it on, you can be extremely ill from it, and you can even still die from it. So be sensible. Wear the mask. Sanitise your hands. Keep your distance. As we go into the winter it’s only going to get worse, so be careful because I wouldn’t wish what I’ve been through on anyone.

Take care everyone, and I’ll see you all next week.

Julia Blake

Well, what a week it’s been! It’s Friday afternoon and I’m sitting here trying to summon up the energy to write my blog. I’m at work on Saturday then have a Halloween party in the evening so will have no other time to write it.

As you know, Miss F came home a week ago and I made the trip to a nearby town to collect her from the train station there. For various reasons, even though Bury St Edmunds is a much bigger town than Thetford, it is on a mainline whereas Bury is only a branch line. That means that for Miss F to catch a train direct to Bury from her university, it would involve a fifteen-hour journey with six changes including an hour-long tube trip across central London! No way. So, it suddenly occurred to me to check out the trains to Thetford – as it’s a mainline – and lo and behold, it was only going to take five hours and involve one change at Stockport. As Thetford is only a 20-minute drive away, it seemed a much better idea for Miss F to catch a train to there and I would collect her.

Her train was due into Thetford at 18:41 so I left home at 18:20 to ensure I was there in plenty of time. It was a filthy night, dark and rainy, and although I’ve been to Thetford several times, it’s more than thirty-five years since I’ve been to the station. Leaving a big dinner sitting in the hot trolley, I set off, eager to see my girl again.

There was a lot of traffic on the road which I hadn’t allowed for, with congestion in Thetford, and I had forgotten that the station is located down some twisty residential streets that had me wondering if I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. The station itself is tiny and is simply a place where trains stop. Judging by the faded glory of its old Victorian buildings it was once a bit more than that, and you can imagine it being the hub of the town when most travelling was by rail.

I parked outside and sent a quick text to Miss F to let her know I was there. Then I wandered onto the platform and wondered which side I needed to be – there were two tracks but very little information about which platform her train would be arriving at – but as most people were on the opposite one, I guessed that must be it and crossed over on the bridge as the train thundered into the station.

There was the usual confusion of people getting on and off, of greetings and farewells, and travellers trying to control wayward luggage. I scanned the faces of all the disembarking passengers but couldn’t see her anywhere. The train pulled out of the station and the crowd began to thin and I still couldn’t see her. That tiny voice of panic nagged at my mind, so I took out my phone and saw I had a missed call which I hadn’t heard because of the noise of the train and a text from Miss F – where are you? – I was about to phone her when suddenly she was there! She travelled down with another girl from university, and they’d got off at the other end of the train and I hadn’t seen her.

Driving back, she was full of excited talk about university shenanigans and adventures with her friends, and it was good to hear how happy and settled she is there. It is worrying when your only child goes halfway across the country at barely eighteen. When they’re so far away that if anything happens, it will take you hours to reach them.

After more than five hours travelling, she was tired and hungry, so we had dinner then a reasonably early night.

We were both woken at 5am on Saturday by the lodger trying to get out of the house to go to work. Yes, he is still incapable of opening and closing doors quietly, but what can I do?

I was supposed to work on Saturday, but my boss swapped my hours, so I had the day off and was very relieved I did. After a lazy start, we wandered uptown and treated ourselves to a luxury hot chocolate each which we sat and drank in the Abbey Gardens. It was a gorgeous sunny day, with squirrels darting about all over the place.

Once we’d finished our drinks, we wandered through town and booked a table for dinner with my parents the following Thursday at a local pub, then went to visit Miss F’s grandparents who were very pleased to see her. After a nice long visit with them, we went our separate ways – Miss F to go for a haircut and I to Waitrose to pick up a few bits for dinner and the rest of the week. Again, we were both very tired after being woken so early so had a nice dinner and an early night.

Sunday, I had to work, but Miss F was looking forward to having a day to chill and try to persuade the cat to forgive her for going away. It was quite funny, the cat wasn’t hostile towards her or anything like that, but there was definitely a passive-aggressive protest going on about her abandonment by Miss F. Every time Miss F picked up the cat for a cuddle, the cat would pointedly remove herself from her arms and come and climb into my lap.

Sunday evening, we had my niece around for the evening and we shared a Chinese takeaway, two bottles of red wine, and a glass or so of gin. The plan had been to play games, but we spent the whole evening chatting instead.

Monday was a day off as well, so we drove to the nearest seaside town to us which is Felixstowe. Again, it was a gorgeous day with blue skies arcing overhead and the sun glittering off the North Sea. We played on the tuppeny shove and spent lots of money to win some tut that was worth a fraction of what we spent to win it, but we had fun, so that’s the main thing. After that, we had chips sitting on the seafront. A very large seagull landed nearby and looked sideways at our chips, but a large dog chased it off so that was all right. We then slowly wandered back to the car as the sky was darkening – just making it to the car as the heavens opened.

Unfortunately, Miss F came back from university with a nasty cough – and no, it’s not Covid. During the first week or so of university, “freshers’ flu” swept through all the students. I think it was glandular fever. Anyway, many of them were left with a persistent cough – Miss F included. This cough has lingered ever since. Some of the other students went to their doctors and were prescribed antibiotics because it’s a chest infection and not much else will shift it. But … here is where it gets complicated.

When Miss F first got to university, she was told to register with the local doctor’s surgery as a student and they could then have access to her medical records back at her registered surgery in Bury St Edmunds. Miss F duly did as she was instructed. So, when this cough looked like it was going to stick around she tried to get an appointment with the surgery near the university. But … they don’t answer their phone, they don’t respond to emails, and it seems like they don’t want to give appointments to students – not even telephone consultations. Miss F then tried her surgery in Bury St Edmunds – the ones who have been her doctors since before she was born. But … she is apparently no longer registered with them so they can’t help her!

This is a ludicrous situation. At the age of just 18, my daughter doesn’t appear to have an NHS doctor!

So, nothing was done about her cough and a month later she still has it. A horrible, dry, hacking cough that is painful to hear. Monday evening, she tried again to get a telephone consultation with the surgery near the university. Your call has been logged, she was informed, someone will get back to you as soon as possible.

Note: It is now Friday evening, four days later, and no one has.

She then tried the NHS helpline. After a myriad of questions, some sensible, some bizarre, she was told someone would call her back. An hour later, someone did. A nurse practitioner called Carol who from the sound of her accent was in the West Country somewhere. She listened to Miss F’s symptoms – she also listened to her coughing up a lung down the phone – at the end of which she declared that she was not happy to prescribe antibiotics and suggested that Miss F take some cough medicine!

Cough medicine? For what is plainly a chest infection!

Understandably frustrated by all of this, Miss F asked me what she should do, so I told her to go and see the pharmacist in our local chemist the next morning. I’ve spoken to him before and he’s really good – so good that it’s a crying shame he couldn’t prescribe Miss F the antibiotics which he wanted to because, in his opinion, she has a chest infection, and they would help her to get rid of it. Because of the rules in the UK though, he wasn’t allowed to prescribe her anything other than a strong linctus to try and help shift it. But he did say if the cough didn’t clear by next week then she would have no other option but to go to A&E – for a cough that could quite easily be dealt with by a simple doctor’s appointment – because it’s impossible to get a doctor’s appointment anymore so you must go to the hospital and put yet more strain on the emergency services. The situation in the UK is now that ridiculous! Surely, it can’t all be blamed on the pandemic. Where have all the doctors gone? Why are they no longer seeing patients, and why are surgeries no longer answering their phones?!

Tuesday I was back to work, but Miss F was spending the day with a friend and having lunch out, so when I got home I cooked a quick meal for myself. We had managed to book Miss F’s second Covid jab for seven that evening in the nearby town Newmarket. I’ve been to Newmarket loads of times and Google maps told us that Pharmacy 4U – which was where the vaccine centre was located – was on the high street, so I was confident of being able to find it.

Running late, as usual, we parked on the high street and set off on foot to find the pharmacy which, Google maps reliably informed us, was nearby. Nope. Rushing up and down the street, we were confronted with closed shops and even boarded-up premises. Desperate – it was now five to seven – I jumped at a young couple walking by and asked them if they knew where Pharmacy 4U was? Oh, the vaccine place, they asked. Yes. Oh, that’s up on the racecourse, another mile or so out of town.

Fuming, we charged back to the car, jumped in, and raced out of town. Now we were into a part of Newmarket I didn’t know very well at all. Trying to slow and peer at right-hand turnings looking for the statue of the horse they’d told us to turn by, we couldn’t see anything! It didn’t help that it was dark, and I mean, really dark! There was no moon at all Tuesday night, so it was pitch black, with bright headlights coming at me out of the dark half blinding me. I couldn’t see bugger all and had no idea where I was or where I was supposed to go.

After a few minutes I realised we were heading out of town so must have missed it. Cursing, I turned onto a farm track and waited until I could pull back out into traffic and head back into town now scanning the left for the statue and the turning. I thought I saw something looming up in shadows, but it was so blinking dark I wasn’t sure if I’d seen anything or not. But there was a turning, so we took it, and it led us back parallel to the road we’d been on. There was nothing there! No signs, no clues at all that we were in the right place.

I turned back onto the main road, then saw that what I’d seen was the horse statue so we must have been in the right place. Fuming, I turned back onto the side road and this time we went further – almost to the gates of the racecourse itself – and there, finally, was a lit-up sign for Pharmacy 4U.

Pharmacy 4U, it informed us in bright red letters, has been relocated to Landwades Business Park, Kentford!

WTF!! We’d driven through Kentford to get to Newmarket so must have gone straight by it!

By now it’s gone 7:20 and Miss F’s jab was booked for seven. She was panicking that she wouldn’t get her second jab at all, and I was beyond angry that they’d moved the location without bothering to let us know!

Back through Newmarket, we roared, and out onto the road leading back to Bury. I knew roughly where Lanwades Business Park was – somewhere on the right – but the road was thickly tree-lined and due to the extreme darkness it was impossible to see anything until you were right on top of it. I slowed right down, indicating right, and crawled along frantically scanning the hedgerows for a turning.

Where is it when you’re looking for somewhere there’s always a car right up your arse being driven by some brain dead moron with no patience. Yes, I know I’m going slowly but you can see my indicator is on and I’m clearly looking for somewhere. Revving right up to the back of my car as if you want to climb into my boot and putting your headlights on full beam isn’t going to help the situation.

Almost into the village of Kentford, I saw a large plaque saying Lanwades Business Park and thankfully turned off the road, leaving the inconsiderate arse wipe behind me to roar off into the darkness. Cheers, mate, you were so understanding. Following the signs for Pharmacy 4U we parked, and Miss F jumped out and ran into the building. The door was locked as they’d finished for the evening and initially told her she would have to come back another day. Forcibly informing them that she couldn’t, she was home for a couple of days from university only, and that it wasn’t her fault as the location of the clinic had been changed without any kind of notification – they relented, let her in, and stuck the needle in her as they were asking her consent.

What a bloody palaver, but at least she’s had her second dose now.

Wednesday, I was at work and Miss F went to catch up with another friend and have a light lunch with them. Getting home from work, I did us an amazing dinner of thick sirloin steaks with all the trimmings, then Miss F’s godmother came round for the evening.

Thursday, her last day and a day off work for me. Having a good breakfast, we went uptown for Miss F to have her optician’s appointment – thankfully, she still has an optician! Her eyesight has deteriorated again so new glasses were necessary and when they arrive I will have to collect and post them up to her.

After that, we mooched around the charity shops and managed to finish off my fancy dress costume for the party I was going to on Saturday night.

Thursday evening, we went for dinner at a local pub with my parents. The pub is lovely, the menu is extensive, it’s reasonably priced, and the staff are friendly. Just one thing marred our meal out. A large family were sitting at a table on the other side of the room. Not only did they have a baby that occasionally let out the most ear-piercing shrieks, which was bad enough, but they also had a small yappy dog who barked constantly. Pitched at a shrill pain level, it was annoying for us all but particularly so for my mother whose hearing aid was reacting badly to the frequency of the yaps and causing her pain. On and on, the shrill cries and even shriller yapping went on, and the family did absolutely nothing to curtail either annoyance.

When I went to place our order at the bar, I asked the server if he thought the dog was going to yap all evening. God, I hope not, he replied, pulling a face, it’s so annoying, isn’t it!

Going back to our table, the server followed me over a few minutes later and said he’d reserved us a table in a different room, so we’d be away from the selfishly noisy family, so we quietly, and without any fuss, moved before our food was served.

The meal was lovely, we had a nice chat, and everything was going well, until the father of the noisy family brought the dog over to stand right by our table, yapping away. Then the mother walked over and called out to us – we’re leaving now, I hope you’re happy, we saw you glaring at us!

How bloody rude was that? For a start, yes, we are very happy you and your noisy dog are leaving, but as for glaring at you, seeing as we’ve been sitting in another room for the past hour and couldn’t see you how can we have been glaring at you?

We stared at them in disbelief as they left the pub, trailing their three or four small offspring with them, who were chanting – nasty people, we’re leaving! Which they must have picked up from their parents.

Miss F accused me of being a “Karen” because I was so annoyed not only at their selfish and inconsiderate behaviour, but the unnecessary comments made by them. I’m sorry but taking your dog into a restaurant is a privilege, not a right, and if your dog cannot behave and is spoiling the enjoyment of the other diners, then take the damn thing out or leave it at home altogether! Why are people so inconsiderate these days? Has lockdown made people boorish and rude because they’re not used to eating out anymore? Or have some people always been like that, and I’d just forgotten? If I had a dog, and that dog was prone to constantly yapping, then I certainly wouldn’t take it into a crowded restaurant, I would leave it at home. I don’t know, maybe Miss F is right, maybe I am a Karen, but the older I get, the less inclined I am to put up with other people’s bullshit.

And that was the end of Miss F’s stay. Friday morning, we had a full English breakfast to see her through the day and the long train journey, then I drove her to Thetford and saw her on the 12:41 train. Driving back to Bury I detoured to Tesco to do my weekly shop, drop off bottles at the recycling bank, and top up with petrol. Thankfully, all that fuel shortage shenanigans are over, although fuel prices have gone up. Getting caught in a sudden downpour when I was loading the shopping in and out of the car, by the time I’d got it all into the house, I was drenched.

Friday afternoon was spent stripping Miss F’s bed, tidying her room, cooking my dinner, attempting to write my blog, then at 5:30 I put on my coat and shoes and joined my neighbours in the street for a last Happy Hour drink before the clocks go back this weekend, the nights pull in, and the weather makes it impossible to meet outside.

Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to finish writing my blog on Friday, so I left it to finish on Saturday morning, but that didn’t happen either, then when I got home from work that evening I had a light dinner to cook and eat, and a fancy-dress party to get ready for.

So, it’s now Sunday. After a very late night, I slept in this morning, but then realised I hadn’t put my clocks back yet, so it wasn’t so late as I thought. I’m now off for three days and plan to write and catch up with housework. I think Miss F has given me her cough though because my throat feels like sandpaper and I can’t stop coughing, or maybe it’s a result of getting caught in the rain. Either way, I’m looking forward to three gentler days of taking care of myself and eating nourishing meals.

Happy Halloween Everyone! Sorry it’s a late blog this weekend, but better late than never, right?

Julia Blake

This is a quick blog to let you know that there will be no blog this week. As you’re aware, Miss F is coming home this evening – her first time travelling on a train alone – I’m not nervous, you are, so I won’t have any time to write tomorrow due to wanting to spend the day with her.

Initially, I was going to have to work all weekend, but last Sunday my boss suddenly woke up to the fact that my daughter was coming home for six days, and I was having to work for four of them, did a little bit of jiggery-pokery and told me that if I worked Tuesday instead I could have Saturday off. Deal!

So, I’ve worked two days so far this week, Monday and Tuesday, and although they were really quiet, boring days I am already through my target for the month so I’m not too worried. That means I only have a six-hour shift on Sunday which isn’t too bad.

Not sure what we’ll do on Saturday. Miss F has a haircut booked for 2:30pm so we can’t go out for the day, but I’m sure we’ll find something fun to do.

The freezer, fridge, and cupboards are stuffed full of yummy things to eat, and, by special request, when we get back from the station at seven tonight there will be a dinner of BBQ maple belly pork and roast potatoes waiting in the hot trolley.

I’ve also spent the last two days taking apart her bedroom, thoroughly cleaning it, and putting it back together. My dad called round on Wednesday and helped me to shift Miss F’s incredibly heavy mattress off the bed and onto the landing so I could move the bed and clean underneath it. Ye gods, how disgusting was it under there! Cobwebs, dust, and enough hair to make another teenager. Spiders scuttled in all directions as I merciless committed arachnid Armageddon with the vacuum cleaner.

By the end of Wednesday, I was hot, sweaty, and filthy. Crawling into the shower, all I wanted to do that evening was eat dinner and fall into bed.

Thursday I finished sorting her room, made her bed up fresh, caught up with the laundry, and then made sure downstairs was clean and tidy. I don’t suppose Miss F will even notice or care how clean the house is, but I don’t want to have to waste a second of the next six days doing housework!

Today is Friday, and this morning I’ve written a couple of book reviews and made posts for the next few days. Saturday is the third anniversary of the launch of The Forest ~ a tale of old magic ~ which is still one of my most popular books to date. To mark the occasion, I am releasing a brand-new video trailer for the book on social media. Made by the fabulous Platform House Publishing, it’s my first video to contain not just a music backing track but have audio as well. If you’d like to view it, then it’s on Instagram, Facebook, YouTube, and there are links to it on my website.

If you’re an author and require an excellent team to create your book covers, promotional images, video trailers, and interior formatting, then I highly recommend Platform House Publishing. Professional, friendly, and reasonably priced, why not check them out and don’t forget, there’s a 10% discount code for their services on my website.

I’m also holding an international Giveaway on Sunday on Instagram, so if you’d like to be in with a chance to win a signed copy of the gorgeous paperback edition of The Forest, then look for my post to enter.

And now I’m sitting at my keyboard and waiting. Waiting for Amazon to deliver a colour changing bulb for Miss F’s bedside lamp because she took hers to university. Waiting for my dad to collect his stepladder which I borrowed to clean the inside of my windows. Waiting for 1pm when I’ll be in a zoom meeting with my local authors’ group. Waiting until 5:30pm when I’ll pop outside for a quick drink and a chat with my neighbours. Waiting until 6:15pm when I’ll set out for the station to collect Miss F. And waiting until 6:41pm when her train should arrive, and my girl will be home.

And while I’m waiting, I will cook dinner and get it in the hot trolley and maybe even get down a few more words of my book – because I doubt I’ll have any time to write next week.

And that’s about it. Sorry, this is only a short chat about how there isn’t a blog this week, but at least next time I will have Miss F’s visit to tell you all about.

Take care and stay well.

Julia Blake

It’s a weekend without the lodger as he’s gone away until Sunday evening – all the way to Edinburgh and back on the train for a day and a half, rather him than me – and it’s nice to have the house to myself. Don’t get me wrong, as lodgers go he’s not bad and I’ve certainly had worse. Yes, he’s very noisy leaving the house at 5am to go to work, but at least it’s only twice a week. It is also temporary that it’s so early. He works at Waitrose which is a two-minute walk away so for his 6am shift he wouldn’t be leaving the house until 5:55am, but because Waitrose is currently undergoing a refit he is working at the Waitrose in Newmarket – a small town about twenty minutes away. Not having a car means he must catch the train so must leave at 5am as the only train that will get him there on time is at 5:20am.

I’ve had a few lodgers in the past that had early starts or worked night shifts and never yet encountered one who understood the concept of trying to be quiet when leaving or entering the house at unsociable hours. If it’s a work day for me as well, then I don’t mind so much, but if it’s my day off – which Thursday was – and I’ve not been sleeping very well so am exhausted, being abruptly woken by a heart attack because someone has loudly slammed the dining room door right under your bedroom, stomped along the hallway, jingled the door chain and lock as noisily as possible, then slammed the front door, that’s not so tolerable.

Lying there trying to persuade my heart to start beating again, I desperately wanted to go back to sleep but my bladder got in on the act, so I had to get up and go downstairs to the bathroom. He’d left the hall light blazing away – again! Staggering through the kitchen with my eyes half shut I didn’t bother to put on the light and banged my hip on the dishwasher door he’d left open – Again! I reeled around the corner into the bathroom and bounced off his bathroom cabinet door which he’d left wide open – AGAIN!

What is it with men and cupboard doors? I’ve had this issue with almost every single male lodger I’ve ever had. And thinking about it, my ex was the same. Go to cupboard/drawer, take out or put something in, almost shut the cupboard/drawer but then walk away without finishing the job. Why? Why!? Is it sheer male stupidity that they don’t understand the concept of how doors and drawers work? Is it laziness that they can’t be bothered to finish the job? Or is it more why should they have to tidy up after themselves when there’s a perfectly good woman in the house to follow them around and do it for them?

I have spoken to him about it. He promised not to do it again. He’s done it again, and this time I hurt myself twice because he couldn’t be arsed to simply shut the fecking door! I also had to talk to him about putting sharp knives in the dishwasher pointed end up – very nasty when you’re unloading the cutlery tray and a knife point goes right up under your fingernail!

He’s clearly not going to respond to a “chat”, no matter how many times we have one, and to be honest, I’ve asked him once, having to constantly have a go at him about it will simply lead to resentful feelings on both our parts.

No, there’s nothing for it, the sticky notes are going to have to come out. Please shut and please switch off light notes strategically placed. We’ll see how that works. I don’t want to lose him, but neither can I let it go. Leaving the dishwasher door down is dangerous, any further down and I wouldn’t have banged into it I would have tripped over it, and then that could have been something broken – either me or the dishwasher – neither of which is desirable.

So, I’m enjoying my quiet weekend. Whilst he’s gone I shall vacuum right through the house as I’m reluctant to do the lounge and the stairs knowing he’s underneath and possibly napping – see, consideration, it should cut both ways!

I have the tortoise Poe to bathe and clean out. If animals are as smart as people claim they are, why do they always poo in their only source of fresh water? I checked that his heat lamp had come on this morning and noticed a monster turd floating in his pool, so I have that to sort out. Deep joy.

Then there’s the bathroom and kitchen to clean as usual. I took Mr M through the cleaning routine last weekend, but it made sense for me to clean this weekend as well because he’s away and then he can clean next weekend. I’m working both days plus Miss F is home so having someone else do the cleaning will be helpful.

I can’t believe that Miss F is coming home next Friday. On the one hand, it feels like ages since I last saw her, but on the other, it seems like only yesterday I was helping her settle into her dorm room. She’s coming home for six days and unfortunately, my shift pattern crapped out and I must work for four of them, which is just typical.

Oh well, we’ll still have two days together plus the evenings. She certainly has a lot to pack into those six days. Two sets of grandparents to see, friends to catch up on, hairdresser and optician appointments to attend, her second Covid jab to get, and on top of that, she will have a ton of online coursework to do as it’s not officially a half-term holiday but a week of self-directed study. That means she doesn’t have to physically be at the university, but she’ll still have work she’ll be expected to complete.

It’s not been a bad week, there’s been work of course, which was work. I’ve also been to the theatre twice, which was wonderful.

The first trip was last Sunday when I went to see the Irish comedian Ed Byrne at the Theatre Royal with M, one of my friends from my local author group. We’d arranged to meet on the corner of a road between mine and hers and on the way to the theatre. I got there first and stood under a streetlamp until I realised it looked a bit dodgy and there was a chance I might earn a few bob whilst I was waiting for her, so moved to the opposite side of the street.

The bar at the theatre had removed the plastic-lined runways since the last time I’d been in July, so we didn’t feel like sheep waiting to be dipped when we queued up to buy drinks and order ones for the interval, although the bar staff were as slow as ever. For October it was a beautiful evening, so we sat outside until the curtain bell rang, and it was time to go in.

Ed Byrne is hysterically funny, but a bit of a potty mouth and it was funny watching the mostly middle-class, middle-aged audience reactions. They wanted to laugh because what he’d said was relatable and funny, but oh my goodness, he’d dropped the F-bomb three times in one sentence! M and I were in the back row of a side box and as the first half wore on and the row in front of us remained empty, we exchanged considering glances.

The interval came along, and the people in the front seats were still a no show so when we’d collected our drinks and were once again sitting in the garden, we decided to nab those seats when we went back for the second half. The sightline from those ones was better, plus they were slightly longer so there was more space.

After the interval, M went for a pee, and I went back to our box. It was still empty, so I slithered into the front row. Two seconds later, of course, the door to the box banged open and it was a man and his son. They’d arrived late and the theatre staff didn’t want them to disrupt the performance by making them climb over us to get to their seats so had sat them elsewhere for the first half. Bugger. Apologising, I slithered back out of the front row and sat in my seat, exchanging a resigned look with M when she came back.

It was a great evening. There is something about watching live comedy with an audience that makes the comedian even funnier. I think the audience feeds off the energy and humour of everyone else. Laughter is infectious – anyone who has seen that fabulous YouTube clip of a man suddenly bursting out into wonderful laughter on a crowded tube and within minutes has everyone laughing with him, even though they have no idea what he’s laughing at – will know that.

Friday evening was my second trip to the theatre of the week. It was my belated birthday present to my friend S, so I met her from work and we wandered down to the Dog & Partridge which is the pub closest to the theatre. We got there at 5pm and didn’t need to be at the theatre until gone 7, so we had a nice long leisurely meal with a bottle of wine, coffee, and Amaretto chasers. It’s a nice pub, lovely atmosphere, friendly staff, spacious, good menu, and the food is delicious. I had the scampi and chips last time we were there, which was delicious, so this time I had an Unruly Burger. Not sure why it was unruly, but it was fabulous – a thick burger smothered in cheese, bacon, barbecue sauce, and mayo, with crunchy onion rings and sea salt and rosemary fries. Yum.

At about seven, we paid our bill, used the facilities in the pub rather than queue forever to use the ones in the theatre, and wandered the fifty yards into the theatre to order our drinks.

Again, we sat outside as it was mild enough to do so. Bearing in mind we were there to watch The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde; the moon was suitably full and creepy with clouds wreathing it in true Halloween style.

The play was very good, although it did feel like the first half went on forever. At one point I was wondering if there was even going to be an interval. Luckily there was, and we were able to retrieve our drinks and once again sit outside to drink them. We could have sat in the bar, but there were a lot of people crowded in and it felt safer to avoid them and besides, we won’t be able to sit outside for much longer so we might as well enjoy it whilst we can.

The lodger had already left for Scotland by the time I got back, so I was able to lock the door, switch off all the lights and go to bed safe in the knowledge that I wouldn’t be rudely awoken at silly o’clock by him trying to get out.

As it’s just me, the heating went off yesterday before I went to the theatre and won’t go back on until late Sunday evening just to warm the place through before he gets back. It’s not that cold yet, and a thick cardigan and an extra pair of socks are all I need to keep me warm during the day. I’ve laid a fire, so once it gets later and the temperature drops I will sit and eat my dinner in front of a roaring log fire and save a few essential pennies by not putting the heating on.

I’ve taken a fillet of smoked haddock out of the freezer and will make a creamy smoked haddock risotto for dinner. I’ve been eating so much more fish since Miss F left and I’m enjoying the fact my diet is now so varied and healthy.

Tomorrow I’m back to work for a couple of days. I don’t mind my job, but it has become very high-pressured and wears me down to the bone some days. At least tomorrow it’s only a six-hour shift though, so not too bad.

And that was my week, that was. A quiet, jogging along, kind of week. I did manage to write a few more thousand words of my current work in progress, but I have resigned myself to the fact that it won’t be published this year. I may have time to finish writing it, but that is merely the start of the process and there probably wouldn’t be time to do everything else necessary to launch before the end of November. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to put my beta readers under that kind of pressure. It’s a big book, so it’s going to take them a while to read it thoroughly and pick up any parts that need amending. No, it’s better to wait and do it properly.

I hope wherever you are that you’re staying safe and keeping healthy and look forward to chatting with you next week. It may be a brief visit next time though, what with working all weekend and having Miss F home I will have to write it on Friday, and I don’t suppose much of interest will happen between now and then, so I won’t have much to tell you.

Take care.

Julia Blake

It’s been a week of new beginnings, clearing the decks, random gifts, and remembering the good and bad points of having a lodger. Mr M has lived here for a week now and although I feared he would never find a home for the mountain of belongings he arrived with, somehow the room absorbed it all. It’s lucky that when I furnished the room, I ensured that plenty of storage was included and this, plus the large built-in cupboard in the room, means the lodgers have quite a lot of places to put their things away.

Saturday evening, his first night here, he treated me to a Chinese takeaway, and we sat and ate it whilst watching the new BBC drama “Vigil” set on a nuclear submarine. It was a pleasant evening, and I thought we were off to a good start. I haven’t changed that opinion, although like most lodgers when they first move in, there have been a few niggles along the way. Like many male lodgers I have had, he’s very lazy about closing cupboards and drawers once he’s finished with them and after a week of walking into the kitchen or bathroom and crossly slamming shut all the doors he has left open, it’s pretty obvious the hint has not been taken and I am going to have to talk to him and ask him to go that extra distance and close the doors that final centimetre or so.

Perhaps one of the men out there who read my blog can let me know what it is with men doing this because I just don’t get it. You’ve opened the cupboard, you’ve got out or put away whatever it is, you’ve almost closed the door the whole distance but then your energy fails you at the last and you leave it open, just by a little bit. Why? Why?! It is intensely annoying for several reasons. Firstly, it makes the place look like a student squat, doors left ajar and drawers half open makes for a very untidy looking room. Secondly, my kitchen and bathroom are quite small so leaving doors and drawers open eats into the space. Thirdly, I’ve smacked my head on enough half-open doors and banged my hip on drawers left unexpectedly open over the years to be tired of this game and not be prepared to put up with it. So, I must have a little “chat” with him about it this afternoon.

Another niggle is on the days he works he is up at silly o’clock in the morning and he always wakes me up. I’m not too worried about that – during my 17+ years of taking in lodgers I have yet to come across one capable of opening and closing the front door quietly – no, what’s bothering me is that he goes off at five in the morning and whilst I appreciate that at that time in the morning it is still dark so he needs to switch lights on, what I don’t expect is to find them still on when I come downstairs three hours later.

Who has he left them on for? He’s gone, so he no longer needs illumination. I’m in bed so I don’t need it and if it’s still dark when I get up, I’m quite capable of switching on the lights myself – I’m a big girl now, tie my own shoelaces and everything. And if he’s leaving them on for the cat then there’s no need because she’s either asleep or out, and anyway, she can see in the dark. So that’s another thing I need to have a little “chat” about. What with energy prices tripling the last thing I need are a bunch of lights blazing away unnecessarily for three hours or more. It is weird though because he claims he’s into conservation yet he’s wasting fossil fuel for no reason.

Every lodger though has had at least one little annoying niggle that has driven me crackers and I’ve had to speak to them about it. I’ve found that the best approach is to be upfront and direct. Look, this is what you’re doing, and this is why I’d rather you didn’t, thank you. And over the years there has been a variety of niggles. The leaving cupboards and drawers open thing isn’t new, and it’s always the men who are guilty of this. Then I had a woman who refused to change the toilet roll, and I don’t mean she left the empty tube on the holder, I mean she would take the cardboard tube off and throw it on the floor and that was it. So, when I went into the bathroom it was to find an empty holder and the toilet roll inner lying on the floor. Again, why? Why?!

The sheer laziness of most people always baffles me, like, they do almost the whole job but then can’t be bothered to expend that extra split second of time and energy to finish it and leave it for someone else – me – to do.

I even had one male lodger who refused to put his things in the dishwasher, instead would pile them up all around the kitchen. When I asked him why he was not tidying up after himself, his excuse was always that he didn’t know if the dishwasher was on or off and if the stuff inside was clean or dirty. Simply opening the door would have answered both of those queries. I think it was more that he didn’t see why he should shift his lazy arse to do it when there was a perfectly good woman in the house who could do it for him. He also used to leave horrendous nasties in the toilet for me to clean up and insisted on acting like the alpha male a-hole around the house. Umm, nope. There is only one alpha male in my house and that is me. He lasted a month and then I asked him to leave.

I had another woman lodger who cooked nothing but vegan food which stank the kitchen out and clogged the filter in the dishwasher with bits of kale and other veg. She also spilt a whole big bag of turmeric one day and we were still trying to clean off the bright yellow stains a month later.

When Mr M comes back from work this afternoon, we have already arranged that I will show him where the cleaning stuff is kept and how I like the kitchen and bathroom to be cleaned. They are easy rooms to spot clean and take less than twenty minutes. I ask that every other weekend the lodger cleans and then on the alternate weekends, I do. I think that’s reasonable. The only other cleaning requests I make are that they tidy up after themselves, use the dishwasher, and keep their room fresh because I don’t want to smell it in my house.

So, I will give a quick cleaning tutorial this afternoon to show him what’s what, then I’m going to clean again next weekend because he is away in Edinburgh for the whole three days and doesn’t have the time to do it. It works out okay for me because the weekend after that I am working both days plus Miss F is home for half-term, so it makes more sense for that to be his weekend for cleaning.

I then worked three long days on the trot, Sunday to Tuesday, and it was whilst I was at work on Monday that I and my colleagues received a bizarre gift from our company. Five long cardboard tubes were delivered – one for each of us – and inside each was a baby tree. Yes, you did read that correctly. A baby tree. And not just any tree, a Scots Pine. Okaaayyy. Umm, thanks, but why? I mean, I’ve had some random gifts over the years but this one takes the biscuit. What do they think we’re going to do with them? I’m guessing not many of their employees have gardens big enough to take a Scots Pine, after all, those things grow to be ginormous, so where are they expecting us to put them?

Even more alarming was the tag on it that said – grow your own logs – so, let me get this straight, I’m to somehow grow this baby into a big tree and then start my own lumber business? I’ve stuck it in a little pot for now and it’s standing on my desk, and yes, I know it can’t stay there for long but I’m guessing it won’t grow that much over the winter months and at least it will be warm and safe. Then, next Spring, I will see if I can find a friend with a big enough garden to give it a home.

I’m sure Head Office have their reasons for this strange gift and maybe they will let us know eventually. And I don’t want to appear ungrateful, but if they had a burning desire to give out pressies to their workforce to show how much they love us, then a bottle of wine, chocolates, or even a little extra something in our pay-packets would have been more practical.

Wednesday dawned, the first of my four days off in a row. I always struggle to get going the first morning off after a spate of long days on. Even though I make lists and am determined to get up and get going, my body doesn’t get the memo because it refuses to co-operate. Anyway, by mid-morning, I was sufficiently awake and caffeinated enough to start my list of chores. First up was answer some correspondence, do laundry, write my shopping list and pop to the supermarket. That done, I then had some lunch and parcelled up a book I was sending to a friend, and Miss F’s fancy dress outfit that she needed for a party she was attending mid-month. Walking to the post office, I detoured to the charity bookshop to drop off a bag of books I was getting rid of.

When I got back, I telephoned my garage. My car was due its MOT sometime towards the end of October, so I needed to book it in. Umm, you’re a little late, the garage receptionist told me. The MOT was due three days ago. Bugger! Shall I bring it round now, I asked. I think you better, she replied, you’re breaking the law driving about without an MOT.

And there was I – blithely driving to the supermarket and work blissfully unaware of my crime!

I drove to the garage located on the other side of town, tensing up when a police car drove past me, but of course, it ignored me. I had a bag of things to drop off at a charity shop on the other side of town so took it with me as my walk home would take me right by it and at least it would be another bag of rubbish out of the house and another chore ticked off my list. It was a lovely sunny day, so after I’d dropped the car off, I ambled home doing a little window shopping and making a start on buying my costume for a Halloween party I’ve been invited to. The theme is dystopian future and I’m not certain which direction I’m going in but found a couple of things I thought might do.

It was so nice being out. I picked up another couple of bits of shopping I needed and got home in time to cook dinner and watch another episode of Vigil with the lodger.

Thursday – after being woken at 4:45am by the lodger trying to get out of the house quietly and failing spectacularly – I did go back to sleep and woke again at eight feeling well-rested. Keeping my phone close to hand because the garage had promised to phone me if there were any problems, or to let me know when the MOT was done, I settled down for a morning of writing.

I have had to realistically examine the situation with my current work in progress. Even though it is standing at almost 100,000 words, I don’t think it’s going to be finished in time to publish this year. I mean, it might, miracles do sometimes happen, but it’s more likely that it won’t be. It’s a big book and being the last book in the trilogy means it’s an important book. There are so many storylines to complete and loose ends to tie up that I don’t want to rush it. The deadline I had set myself of the end of November is precisely that – a self-imposed deadline. If it’s not published by then, I shall simply have to wait until March.

Why wait until then, you might ask. Why not publish between the beginning of December and the end of February? Well, Christmas is traditionally a very bad time to be publishing a book. People are busy with Christmas preparations and usually, the last thing on their mind is buying books for themselves, so unless your book bears the title “Christmas Kisses at Mistletoe Cottage” or is a festive recipes cookbook, there’s no point publishing it.

January is a long and depressing month, with everyone on book-buying bans because of how much money they spent over Christmas, and February is just depressing full stop. It’s not until March, when spring flowers begin to poke through and nights pull out and the weather improves, that people’s thoughts turn to buying books.

You never know, I may even finish writing the book and have written another one so will have two in the pipeline ready to release in the spring. The next book I intend to write after this one is book five in the Blackwood Family Saga and as this will be a short book I can write and produce it quite quickly.

But we shall see, I know what’s happened to my carefully laid plans in the past, so I’m not holding myself to any firm commitments.

Thursday afternoon I had a lovely long zoom chat with a fellow British indie author. I needed some expert advice about physiotherapy and rehab after a serious spinal injury for my current book and had remembered that this lady is a physiotherapist so would have practical, hands-on knowledge. I messaged her asking if she’d be prepared to be a consultant, she agreed, so we set the meeting up. It was wonderful, not only did I get reams of information to use, but I was able to chat with a fellow author face-to-face. The rest of the afternoon I spent writing and trying to incorporate the information she had given me into my manuscript.

Friday morning, I phoned the garage a little bit worried. I needed to have my car back to be able to go to work on Sunday, and I knew they were closed on a Saturday. The mechanic hasn’t even looked at the car yet, I was told, but don’t worry, it’s next on his list. Okay, deep breath, it’ll be fine. I spent the rest of the morning writing, pleased with how it was going. In the afternoon I had my fortnightly zoom meeting with my local authors’ group, which was great as ever, but by the time I got off the call at 4pm the garage still hadn’t phoned, and I was getting seriously panicked.

If I’d been working the Saturday, it would have been all right because I could have caught a bus to and from work, but there are no buses on a Sunday so it would have meant me either catching a taxi (expensive) or walking (very long way, I really didn’t want to do that).

I called the garage again. I was very aware that they had squeezed me in as a favour because I stupidly didn’t keep a track of when my MOT was due, but at gone 4pm when they would close at 5pm for the weekend, I felt they were pushing it pretty close to the wire. He’s not quite finished, I was told, we’ll call you back as soon as he has. True to their word, at 4:30 they rang back. The MOT was done, and my car had passed only needing new bulbs and new wiper blades.

Such a relief. It’s an old car and I know one year it’s going to fail. But this was not that year, so I pulled on my boots and walked to the garage to get the car. The total bill was £70 which is not bad for another year of driving. Reaching home, I put together meatballs in a spicy bacon and tomato sauce which I then slid in the oven on a low heat covered in foil, poured a glass of wine, and went out to join my neighbours for the traditional Friday Happy Hour when as many of us as can, gather with a drink outside to have a natter.

It was a lovely evening, mild and balmy, and we lingered until almost seven when the group reluctantly broke up with people muttering about dinner and wandering off to their various homes. It is so nice to live in a small, close-knit street where I know everyone, and we do things like this. Coming back in – slightly woozy from two glasses of wine on an empty stomach – the house was warm and inviting with the cosy smell of dinner cooking. I had made enough to serve four, so cooked a little pasta and grated some cheese to go on top and settled down to watch a film while I ate. The rest has gone in the freezer for future meals.

And now it’s Saturday and the week has once again turned. I was awoken by the lodger trying to get out of the house at the butt crack of dawn but managed to go back to sleep until seven, when I came downstairs to find all the lights left on. Definitely need to have a “chat” this afternoon. Whilst he was at work this morning, I cleaned out and laid a fire ready if it’s chilly enough this evening to need one, I’ve swept up bagsful of mouldy wet leaves in the garden, sorted laundry and done a week’s worth of ironing. I’ve polished and hoovered the ground floor and emptied the bins. And now I’m chatting with you. If there’s time this afternoon, I will write a little more, and then when Mr M gets home, I will show him the cleaning routine and have a chat about lights and doors. Fingers crossed he doesn’t get upset. Tough if he does really, my house – my rules, and I don’t think I’m being unreasonable asking him to not be wasteful with electricity and to shut cupboards when he’s finished with them.

A lot of you have kindly messaged me asking how Miss F is doing at university. Thank you, it’s so touching that after all these years of me blogging and posting about her, you feel you know her and are concerned about her. You’ll be pleased to hear that she’s doing well and is having a total blast. University life seems to suit her. She is very happy, has made lots of friends, and is experiencing student life to its fullest.

She has been voted onto the Student Council, which is a great honour for a fresher and has been offered a paid job on campus. This is a huge relief to me as I was worried about her finding a job in the nearby town which would mean her walking back to the university late at night. Miss F has been asked to be a Student Ambassador which will entail her travelling to schools and colleges to talk about life at her university and answer questions about all aspects of the course she is taking. It’s an exciting opportunity for her and will look good on her resume.

She often messages me and sends me funny photos and videos of what she is up to – although as the latest was a video of her drinking from a two-pint mug with a group of friends whilst an oompah band played in the background – I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or not. It turned out it was a Bavarian night to celebrate Octoberfest.

I am so relieved that she is happy and settled and has made lots of wonderful new friends. She’s even considering once she’s completed her three years and attained her Bachelors, whether to continue her training to achieve a Masters. But that’s something she can decide in three years. Right now, she’s working hard and playing even harder, which is as it should be.

She’s coming home for six days on the 22^nd and I’m looking forward to seeing her immensely. The only downside is I’m working for four of the six days that she is home. But she will have work to do and friends to catch up with, and we will have the evenings, so it will be fine.

Anyway, I thought this was going to be a short blog because I didn’t think I had much to tell you. Seems I was wrong. So, take care everyone and I look forward to chatting again next week.

Julia Blake

Happy October Everyone! Quick blog this week, a very quick blog, just to catch up and let you know how my week has been. The fuel shortage situation goes from ridiculous to absurd. When I went to Tesco to do my shopping on Monday, I had an inkling that buying petrol from there as planned wasn’t going to happen, when I encountered the back of the queue nearly half a mile from the actual garage.

Parking in front of the supermarket, I looked across at the long line of cars all waiting to get into the garage opposite and decided no way was I going to even attempt to buy petrol. I still had a quarter of a tankful; I could wait. I did, however, stock up on heavier items in my shopping, things like toilet rolls, cat food, big bottles of cooking oil, laundry liquid, and vinegar, tins, and heavy bags of potatoes. I figured if the fuel situation got any worse then I would have to shop on foot and the less bulky items I had to try and carry home, the better. As for work, well, there were plenty of buses going up to the retail park where the shop is located so I would simply have to catch a bus. So long as the buses could get fuel, that was.

The rest of Monday was filled up with small niggly jobs that didn’t take long individually but added together took up most of the day. In the evening, Mr M, my new lodger called around to collect contracts and my bank details and it all looked set for him to move in that weekend.

Tuesday and Wednesday, I was at work. Long boring days during which we saw hardly any customers and made precious few sales. I think my head office is a bit out of touch. There is nothing special about this week, there isn’t a bank holiday, it’s not Black Friday, there’s no mega sale planned. Added to that, there is a fuel shortage so people probably won’t be wasting petrol on unnecessary trips, and there is the worry about energy bills skyrocketing this winter so people might be thinking twice about spending money on an expensive purchase such as a new mattress. Considering all this what do my company do? Slap us with a massive target which I don’t think we have a cat’s chance in hell of achieving. Oh well, I shall have to see what Sunday brings – my next day at work. You never know, miracles do sometimes happen.

Tuesday evening, the rent money and the deposit landed in my bank account. To say I was relieved is an understatement. Yes, I’ve managed the past eight months, but it’s been a struggle, and going into winter with increased bills all around forecast, it’s nice to know I have some backup income again.

Then it was my days off and there were jobs to finish before the new lodger moved in, a book to continue writing, and petrol to try and find somewhere. I think I’m going to have to make a hard decision regarding my current book. I had hoped to publish it at the end of November, but it’s now the beginning of October and I’m barely halfway through writing the first draft.

Yes, I could probably finish writing it this month – if I put my mind to it – but it’s not just a case of getting it written, there is all the editing, the beta reading, the formatting, the cover to arrange, a video to sort, plus promotional material. It’s going to be a big book, so everything will take longer than say one of the short little Blackwood saga books.

Being realistic, I may have to put off publishing until the Spring. I don’t want to, because I do aim to get out two books a year, but this has been an extraordinary year with constant distractions and demands on my time. There simply hasn’t been the time. Again, if it was a shorter book I might have a chance, but it’s not, it’s already standing at 92,000 words and I’m only just over halfway through.

I will have to see how it goes, but the fact I’ve allowed myself to consider the possibility of delaying publication is a huge weight off my shoulders, and you never know, now that Miss F is at university, the new lodger is sorted, and life seems to be calming down, maybe I will perform a miracle and get it finished in time. Stranger things have happened.

Friday morning, I decided to get up at silly o’clock and see if I could find some petrol. I had planned to be at Tesco by 6am but due to a technical malfunction with my eyes – they refused to open – it was nearer 6:30 when I got there.

There was no queue, good, I thought, but when I got closer, I saw that the whole garage was coned off so no one could go on or off the forecourt. A big sign read “no diesel” but judging by all the cones I guessed there was no actual petrol either. Bugger, I thought, trying to think what to do. Reluctant to go home empty tanked, I nipped up onto the bypass, drove to the other side of town and into Sainsbury’s. There was only one car ahead of me in the queue, but nearly all the pumps bore yellow stickers proclaiming they were out of service.

Filling up, I went to pay and commented to the cashier how crazy this situation was, and that I’d been to Tesco, and they were closed. We’ll be closing ourselves soon, she told me, we’re almost out again. I drove home, happy that I had a full tankful and relieved I’d made the effort to get up extra early and go hunting for fuel when I did. Who knows, ten minutes later and I might not have got any.

Mr M told me he’d move in sometime on Saturday (today). I hate sometime because sometime could be anytime but is usually during the two minutes you’ve dashed to the loo. Getting up reasonably early, I showered and dressed as quickly as possible, with one ear out for the doorbell. However, as it turned out, he phoned me at eleven and said he’d be round in twenty minutes – which shows a bit of thought and courtesy so we’re off to a good start.

A friend helped him, and they had to make two trips. I crept through between trips and surveyed the pile sitting in the dining room. There was a lot of stuff, and I wondered if it would all fit it. But there’s a lot of storage in the room, so I’m sure he’ll be fine.

It will seem odd having a stranger living in the house again, but I’ve done this for over sixteen years, and it should be easier this time around, not having a child to remind to be quiet and not thump on the stairs or play their music too loud.

I’m afraid I need to go now, Mr M has just popped his head around to the door to ask about space in the kitchen, so I have to sort that out. Sorry, this has been such a short blog and hopefully, I will have more to talk about next week. In the meantime, take care and enjoy the weekend.

Julia Blake

It will be a quick blog this week because I floated the ad for the room yesterday morning and have already had a flood of responses so I’m busy trying to pick my way through them to sort out the wheat from the chaff. A young man is flying in from India on the 29^th of September. He would like to move in that day but doesn’t want to pay the deposit or rent before he moves in. Umm no. Sorry. No money, no key. Also, I am going to be sharing my home with this person, so I need to have at least met them beforehand. I’m not going to turn away potential lodgers for someone I’ve never met who is already causing issues over the rent. Next.

A young man whose English was so bad I could barely understand what he was saying but gathered enough to realise he has a girlfriend and child he also wants to move in with him – and again, he can’t afford the deposit. Next.

A young lady who is also not arriving in the country until the 5^th of October and wants me to hold the room until then. Next.

A young female nurse who informed me most obligingly that she would stay at my house for a month to see if it suited and if it did THEN she would pay the deposit. Umm no. Quickly disabused her of that notion. She arranged a viewing for 11:15 on Monday, so okay, but then messaged that she couldn’t be bothered to travel to Bury to view the room in person so please could I conduct a virtual tour for her. Hmm, my gut is telling me to pass on this one. Too needy and way too complicated.

An agency manager trying to find a room for a young male carer freshly arrived in the country. Again, can’t view but wants to move straight in. No. I must meet them first. Maybe I’m being unreasonable sticking to this rule, but this is my home. I will be sharing a kitchen and a bathroom with them. I must like them. There must be points of connection. I don’t want to feel awkward or in the way in my own home, and I certainly don’t want to feel unsafe.

Even though it was still early days, I did wonder if this was going to be the way of it, nothing but foreigners who didn’t have a clue about the rules and etiquette of renting a room. Then I had a message first thing this morning from a guy who is starting work as a lecturer at the local college which is only a seven-minute walk away. He seems potentially suitable. He can’t view the room until next Thursday, but at least he’s a backup plan. Then at eleven this morning (I am writing this on Saturday) I had a message from a man asking about the room. He has no car or bike (good), works at Waitrose which is a two-minute walk from mine (perfect), and works 6am to 2pm which is perfect. No crowding in the bathroom in the morning as he’ll be gone before I get up. His interests are music, theatre, and yoga (even better)! It’s when they list their interests as drumming and heavy metal that you think, oh no.

He is coming for a viewing in fifteen minutes, so I will let you know how it goes. Would be amazing if I found the perfect lodger that quickly, but it has happened before. It has also taken three weeks before so it just all depends on who sees the ad and when.

Anyway, more good news. After four weeks, over forty emails and two phone calls, the paperback version of Becoming Lili is finally up and available again. No explanation as to why it’s taken so long, and certainly no apology! It’s disgusting how much power KDP have over us authors. They can take away our livelihood on a whim and there is precious little we can do about it. Now Amazon is so huge it is being run mostly by AI so when there is a glitch – as there invariably will be – instead of a human being looking at the issue and solving it, the AI tries to deal with it. It takes an endless bombardment of emails before the AI finally gives up and spits you out of its system and further up the food chain to an actual person.

And then there is the not such good news about the scary fuel crisis that is currently gripping the UK. Regular readers of my blog will know the issues I had earlier in the year with Green Suppliers when they suddenly decided that my energy usage for May and June was triple that of December and January and took vast amounts of money from my bank account.

I fought back, left them, and joined Octopus Energy who so far have proved a lot more transparent and upfront than Green ever were. My account when I left Green showed I was £60 in credit, yet ever since mid-June when I left them, they have been sending me increasingly hostile emails informing me I am £63 in debt to them and that every month I don’t pay they will add £20 to the outstanding bill. Although I knew I didn’t owe them anything, the situation was becoming so stressful that I was beginning to think I would have to pay them £63 just to get rid of them – they could whistle for the extra £40, I wasn’t paying that!

Anyway, I was making dinner Wednesday evening when the news came on the radio. Of course, the ongoing fuel crisis was the headline, and they listed the small energy companies that had already gone belly up. And guess what, Green Suppliers were one of them. Of course, I’m very sorry for all their employees who have lost their jobs, and I’m even more sorry for all their customers who are suddenly without an energy provider and, presumably, are scrabbling around desperately trying to find another company to take them on. Am I surprised though? No, not in the slightest. Going by how they treated me they weren’t fit to be trading.

Listening to the news report it became apparent that I was right – it hadn’t been my energy consumption that had tripled back in April, but rather their unit prices that had increased. And despite all their protestations that it wasn’t them, it was me – it was them.

The government are saying that they won’t bail out any energy company that goes under and I wonder if the underwriters will bother to come after me for £63. I wouldn’t have thought it was worth their while but will wait to see what happens.

The situation re fuel is worrying though. I have a quarter of a tankful so will need to top up when I go shopping on Monday. Will there be long queues? Will there be any fuel in the pumps for me to buy? I also think my energy company will be putting its prices up soon to cope with the increase in costs, which makes getting a lodger even more essential.

Excellent news! I have a new lodger. My 12:15 viewing turned out to be beyond perfect. A quiet and nicely mannered guy in his late thirties, he works in the local supermarket which is a two-minute walk away. No car and no bike so that’s ideal. He works 6am to 2pm which means no queue for the bathroom in the morning and when I’m not working, I’ll have the house to myself. Over the seventeen years, I’ve been taking in lodgers I’ve learnt to trust my gut. And my gut was telling me yes over this one.

Of course, nothing is definite until their money hits my bank account and we’ve exchanged contracts, but he seemed all okay with that and is going to pick up the contracts and my bank details over the next couple of days, get the first months rent and the deposit paid, and then move in next weekend. But until I see the colour of his money, I will leave the ad up and continue to conduct viewings – hedging my bets in case it all goes wrong.

I have another viewing in a minute, but I’m confident with my first choice.

Okay, the second viewing went surprisingly well. Nice, polite young man from Morocco. If the first choice falls through, I would be happy to go with him. I’ve told him I have viewings until Thursday morning so will let him know by Thursday lunchtime. That will give contestant number one plenty of time to sign contracts and pay over the money.

Feeling a lot more positive about life now. Things finally seem to be on the up. Miss F is nicely settled at university and judging by her messages and photos is happy and making lots of friends. KDP has sorted out my book. I think the energy company will stop pestering me now. I received my replacement watch, and, best of all, I’m 99% confident of having a new lodger within the week so that’s rental income coming into the house again which will provide me with a buffer for rising bills.

I even had an old friend I lost touch with over twenty years ago walk into the shop on Thursday. It was so nice to see her, and we swapped contact details and promised to stay in touch.

Do I dare be cautiously optimistic that the run of bad luck that has dogged me since the start of the year is finally at an end? Am I back in the favour of the gods? Has the wheel turned and I’m now riding at the top instead of being crushed into the mud?

I hope so, I really really hope so. I’m so tired of dealing with one niggly problem after another and long for my life to be on an even keel so I can concentrate on trying to get this book written. Yes, I am very aware that we are at the end of September and I’m only halfway through writing the first draft, thank you for reminding me. It seems impossible that I will be able to publish it this year, but we shall see. All distractions and obstacles now seem to be cleared so I should be able to get my head down and write.

Anyway, that’s about it for the week – all good news for once. Take care everyone and wherever you are, stay safe and stay happy.

Julia Blake

And so, another week has flown by and once again I’m sitting here, staring at a blank screen, and wondering what to tell you. It’s Friday morning – I am working the whole weekend – so am having to write my blog a day earlier than usual.

Well, firstly, Miss F seems to have settled into university life very nicely judging by the messages, voice chats, photos, and videos I’ve been sent, usually with a glass of cider in her hand. Hmm, should I be worried or simply accept this is part of university life? Still, I can’t help wondering what happened to that girl who stated less than six months ago that she hated all alcohol and would never drink?

The only fly in her otherwise perfect ointment is that her mattress is so hard and horrible she’s finding it hard to sleep on it and it’s giving her backache! I did think it might. When I made the bed for her, the day we moved her in, I had a look at the mattress and couldn’t believe how nasty it was. Imagine something only four inches deep, with a thick plastic casing and ridges where the springs are poking through. Not very comfortable. Something needs to be done but I’m not sure what.

The obvious answer is another topper, a thick memory foam one this time. But we are currently experiencing shortages of a lot of products right now due to the pandemic, Brexit, a worldwide fabric shortage, and a shortage of HGV drivers, and sadly we can’t get any mattress toppers in the right size. I have no idea how long the shortages are going to last. Also, there is some doubt that even a thick topper will be enough to alleviate the concrete state of the mattress and as they are quite expensive it might be a complete waste of money.

The second option is to buy her another mattress to go on top of the university supplied one. With my staff discount I can get her a thick pocket sprung and memory foam one in the four-foot-wide size we need – and get it delivered directly to the university for free. This would solve any comfort issues as the mattress in question is wonderfully comfortable. But even with my discount, it’s still going to be another £164 of money I’m a bit short of right now. I’m also not sure what the university will think of it. I don’t see how it would be an issue. After all, with an eight-inch mattress on top at least they know their mattress will be protected from stains, spills, and wear and tear. Then there’s the fact at the end of three years we will be left with a four-foot mattress that might be surplus to requirements. So, I’m not sure yet what course to take.

I’ll keep you posted.

And what have I been up to during my first week alone? Well, to be honest, I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly had a chance to realise I am all alone. I worked all last weekend and got home in the evenings just wanting a plate of dinner, to watch something mindless on TV, then go to bed.

I did have Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off this week and had all sorts of things planned. But when I awoke after eight on Monday morning, I quickly realised my mind and body had other plans for me. Slow down, they both insisted, you’ve been going at 100mph for months now. Last week was unbelievably stressful, and physically, mentally, and emotionally draining. You must take it easy now or else we won’t be responsible for the consequences.

For once, I listened, and instead of going at my to-do list like a bat out of hell, I moved gently and slowly through my tasks. Getting the basement room ready for viewings was the priority, so I went to open the window that leads to the outside hatchway to let fresh air and sunshine blast through the room and dispel the slight mustiness in the air from being closed-up and unused for eight months.

I ran into my first hitch. After eight months without being opened the wooden frame had swollen and the window was stuck fast. Nothing I did would convince that window to budge and I was afraid if I was too brutal, I’d break the glass. There was nothing else for it, I phoned my dad.

He’s playing golf, mum said, I’ll give him a call and ask him to call in on his way home. Less than twenty minutes later, he did, and with his superior strength managed to persuade the window to open so I was able to crawl into the hatchway and open it. Monday was a gorgeous day, warm and sunny with a lovely breeze. By leaving the door to the basement open and the back door opposite, it meant a flow of air was soon gusting through.

The room was clean and tidy, but after eight months it needed the cobwebs removing, a good dusting, and the carpet going over with a bit of Shake’n’Vac – “you do the Shake’n’Vac and put the freshness back. Do the Shake’n’Vac and put the freshness back!”

With the room now smelling of vanilla furniture polish and lemon Shake’n’Vac, I took the bedding and put it through a quick wash to freshen it up and hung it out to dry in the sunshine. Once it was dry and ironed, I made the bed nicely, accessorised the room with a few props, and took some new photos for the ad. The room must look attractive so it will tempt potential lodgers. I’m asking quite a lot for the room and although it’s nowhere near the top end of the price band for a room that size in this area, and the renter gets a lot for the money, the lack of a private bathroom can put some people off. I am hoping that now there’s only me in the house using the facilities that it might make the prospect of sharing a bathroom more palatable.

Tuesday dawned wet, cold, and miserable. There would be no opening the basement window today, so I concentrated on getting the other areas that a potential lodger would view shipshape and sparkling clean. It’s a bit like when you’re trying to sell a house and you must live at a ridiculously high level of cleanliness and tidiness so you’re ready to have a viewing at a moment’s notice. By the end of Tuesday, everything was pristine and of course, with no Miss F in the house, it means it will stay that way. Sorry, Miss F, I love you dearly, but you are an untidy horror with a conviction that everything you own should be kept on the floor.

Speaking of lodgers, there’s an interesting little postscript to a previous lodger that occurred the week before Miss F left for uni. It was Friday evening, about nine, and we were watching TV when there was a pounding on my front door. Startled, I went into the hall and was alarmed to see a torch being shone through the glass in the door. Opening it, I found two burly policemen standing there.

ME: Umm, yes?

Police: Sorry to bother you, but we’re looking for someone called D**

He stopped before pronouncing the surname.

ME: Do you mean D** S********?

Police: Yes, him.

(He looked vastly relieved that I had pronounced the tricky Romanian name for him)

ME: I’m afraid he doesn’t live here anymore, he moved out a year ago in August.

Police: Are you his ex?

I snorted at the thought.

ME: Hardly, I’m old enough to be his mother. No, I sometimes let out a room and D** rented it from me for about eight months from October 2019 to August 2020.

Police: Oh, I see. Do you know where he went?

ME: Not really, he never gave me a forwarding address. He moved in with his girlfriend and I think it was into one of those new flats behind the station.

Police: So, you’ve no idea where he went at all?

ME: No, sorry, but he works or worked at that farm machinery manufacturers outside town.

Police: C****?

ME: Yes, there.

Police: Right, thanks.

ME: You’re welcome.

Police: ………..

ME: …………..

ME: What did he do?

Police: I’m not at liberty to say.

ME: Oh, go on.

Police: No, sorry. But thanks for your help.

ME: Okay.

I closed the door but as they walked past our open window, we heard one of them say into his radio – It’s as we thought, he’s moved on from here, but we do have another couple of leads.

Oh, Mr D! What have you done?! I don’t suppose I’ll ever know.

I also went shopping on Tuesday for the first time since Miss F left. Much to my surprise I bought a huge amount of healthy food for half my normal weekly bill.

Now onto something else that has happened which was very unpleasant and has caused me a huge amount of stress and worry – on top of getting Miss F packed up for uni and the whole trauma of getting her there and settled in.

On the 4^th of September, I received a rather alarming email claiming to be from KDP. For those of you not in the author world, KDP is the division of Amazon that I publish my books through. We have decided, it said, that one or more of your book(s) has a serious copyright issue on one of its images used on the cover(s). Please click on the link below to take immediate action to prevent us from making your book(s) unavailable.

Huh? What?

Now I am very careful what images I use in all my books and any promotional material connected to them. Over the years I have spent hundreds of pounds purchasing the right to use the images I wanted from Shutterstock, so I knew there was no copyright issue with any of them.

Was it a scam? Naturally suspicious of any strange email I receive wanting me to click on random links and threatening dire consequences if I don’t, I contacted a few other authors to see if they’d heard of anything like this happening to any other author.

No, they’d never heard of KDP sending out an email like this. It was probably a scam. I checked my books listings on Amazon. All present and correct. Convinced in my mind it was a scam, I put it to one side in favour of the more pressing demands on my time – namely Miss F and university matters.

A couple of days later a duplicate of the email dropped into my inbox. Concerned, I contacted KDP direct explaining what had happened. Was this from them? I asked. Or was it a scam?

The next day a reply came to the email I had sent to KDP – there was a copyright issue with my book(s). As nothing had been done to rectify it, the book(s) in question had been made unavailable.

Now seriously rattled I went to my listings. Sure enough, the paperback version of Becoming Lili was no longer available to buy.

I dashed off a frantic email, by now it was Monday morning, and I was busy arranging Miss F’s open house day, I seriously did not have the time or headspace for this. What is the problem? I asked. I have copyright for the image used on the cover of Becoming Lili because I purchased it using a standard licence from Shutterstock.

Then I put on a sociable face, tried to forget about it for the rest of the day and make it a pleasant one for Miss F. That evening I received the same generic AI response. There is a copyright issue with your book. If you don’t rectify it within five days, we might delete your account.

Again, I sent an email begging for clarification. What was the issue? If they refused to tell me what the problem was, how could they expect me to resolve it?

Tuesday lunchtime another automated response came stating the same thing as all the other emails I had so far received. My emails to them were becoming increasingly frantic as I begged them to at least give me a clue what the issue was.

The emails all stated I needed to supply a written contract signed by the original artist or photographer. That’s not how Shutterstock works and KDP knows that. The artist/photographer sells their images to Shutterstock and with it any rights they might have to copyright or royalties. People like me can then purchase the right to use the images through the use of a licence. It is standard practice and millions of authors take advantage of this ability to buy good quality, copyright-free images to use on covers, interior formatting, and promotional material. Cover designers use the images and even traditional publishers make use of websites such as Shutterstock. If KDP were now stating that Shutterstock images were no longer acceptable for use then there would be millions of authors, cover designers, and publishers up shit creek without a paddle.

Desperately, I sent them an email explaining all of this. Hours later, back came the identical AI automated response.

And then it was Wednesday and there was nothing more I could do. I had to try and put it from my mind and concentrate on getting Miss F safely to her university, get her settled, then drive home on Thursday.

Friday morning, I sat down with a coffee and tried to phone KDP. It was clear emails were getting me nowhere fast and, in the meantime, Becoming Lili was still unavailable to buy in paperback. KDP doesn’t have a direct phone line, so I had to call Amazon and try to explain to the person who eventually answered the phone what the issue was. Struggling to understand her thick deep south American accent, the situation wasn’t helped by the fact she didn’t seem to know who KDP were and even that Amazon DID publish books. Gamely, I struggled on. It had taken forty-five minutes for her to answer the phone, so I wasn’t going to give up now. Eventually, she doubtfully said she thought she’d found the right extension to put me through. Hold on, please.

I held on…

And on…

And on…

And on…

Fifteen minutes into waiting the panpipe music abruptly stopped and was replaced with static.

I waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Determined not to lose my nerve and give in I waited another thirty minutes until …. brrr … the static cut off and was replaced by the disconnected tone.

Grinding my teeth in utter frustration, I tried again.

This time I got through to someone with more understandable English and who had a better grasp of the situation. By now I was so fed up and scared and felt so helpless that I broke down and sobbed over the phone. She couldn’t have been nicer. Taking all the details, she promised to investigate it and escalate the matter further, and with that, I had to be satisfied.

Friday afternoon I had my local authors zoom meeting and told them what had happened. Horrified, they told me to keep going with the emails because eventually, the AI would register that I wasn’t going away and would pass my case onto a human being.

All weekend, I kept going. I took pictures of the cover of Becoming Lili, found the original image on Shutterstock, and took a picture to show it was still there and still available to use. I took a picture of the original download details of when I purchased the right to use the image back in April 2017. Yes, that’s how long ago it was and KDP has only just decided it’s an issue! Finally, I took pictures of the Shutterstock blurb stating that it is absolutely okay to use their images for book covers with a standard licence and that the only time there would ever be an issue would be if you reached 500,000 sales with that particular book and you would have to upgrade to an enhanced licence.

Not quite there, Shutterstock, not quite there.

I attached all of these to my emails and kept sending them – every couple of hours I would fire off the same email giving all the facts and demanding that a human being read the email and sort the issue out.

Finally, Monday morning, I received an email from a real, live breathing person asking for confirmation of the Shutterstock reference number and asking me to supply written permission to myself to use the cover image on my book. I sent it. Thank you, said the person, we’ll consider all of this and get back to you.

Tuesday morning an email arrived saying that after due consideration they had decided that I WAS allowed to use the image I had been happily using since May 2017 on Becoming Lili and that if I went onto my account, I could now resubmit the book and it would be once again available to purchase on Amazon but that it could take 24 hours.

I resubmitted it and waited. By Wednesday lunchtime it still hadn’t been made available, so I emailed them again. Back came an email, oh, it might take 48 hours, they amended.

I waited until Thursday evening, nope, still not available. Now it is Friday lunchtime and a full 72 hours since I first republished the book. Again, I have emailed them and again I must wait until they deign to answer.

It is scary how much power KDP and Amazon have over us authors. They have put me through two weeks of hell and have still not issued an apology or even told me what the problem was. Why, after over four years of being published, did they suddenly pick on this book and this author to conduct a witch hunt on?

Hopefully, Becoming Lili will soon be back up but all I can do is wait and hope. I will keep you all posted, but, in the meantime, all authors out there make sure you have proof that you can use the images you have on your covers – you never know when you might need it.

And that’s about it for this week, except, one last piece of more uplifting news. Do you remember all the who-ha about my watch? Miss F bought me a lovely steampunk watch to celebrate the publication of Black Ice and as an early Christmas present. Because we then went into lockdown, I did not need a watch, and it wasn’t until mid-April when we returned to work that I discovered the watch didn’t work.

Miss F contacted the Etsy seller. Weeks went by before she responded. So sorry, she said, I’ll get a replacement to you as soon as the parts come in to make one. Two months went by. We contacted her again. Nothing. We sent more emails. No reply. Then, I must confess, we got caught up in other things and didn’t have the time or energy to pursue it. I knew Miss F had written it off and didn’t expect to ever receive either a replacement or a refund of the £45 it had cost her. I was annoyed about it, but as Miss F had bought it there wasn’t a lot I could do.

Anyway, on Monday a package turned up for Miss F. I messaged her. Ooh, I’m expecting a little stuffed bee to hang in my room, she said, that’s probably what it is. I filmed myself opening it. No bee. Instead, it was the watch!

We couldn’t believe it. Finally, after waiting five months, the replacement one had turned up! And this is just so typical of how shit most customer service is nowadays.

Anyway, I need to go to the post office and run a few errands, and then this evening for the first time in forever, I will be able to join my neighbours in the street for their regular 5:30 happy hour drink without having to worry about going to pick Miss F up from work at 9:30! Do not miss that either.

Take care everyone, and I will chat with you next week.

Julia Blake