I know what you’re thinking. It’s been two weeks, surely she’s finished the dining room by now. Umm, no I haven’t, not even close. It’s been a busy two weeks and trying to fit in decorating around work and everything else I must do is hard. Also, I’m a lot older than the last time I did a major decorating job. Back then, I could start work early and keep going until I was done. Now, I’m slower and get tired more quickly. I also must know my limits. When I’m tired, I get clumsy, and that’s not something you want to be balanced at the top of a stepladder with a full tin of paint.

I went into October full of good intentions but worked the first three days of the month. On my first day off I spent almost the whole day clearing and cleaning the dining room. I have a large Welsh dresser which holds all my best crockery and glasses. I rarely go in there and as I started pulling everything out and boxing it up, it was surprising how much stuff I have. I did put a few things with my old crockery ready to go to the skip and three old, mismatched glasses come from heaven knows where went to the bottle bank. It’s all piled up in the basement and it’s just as well the lodger moved out because it would have been a lot more difficult had he still been here. Especially as he wasn’t the type of person to understand and be patient with the state of the house whilst the renovations were ongoing.

Finally, I had no more excuses and could procrastinate no longer. I got into my old painting clobber and climbed up the ladder to paint the ceiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve painted a ceiling. The basement doesn’t count because it’s so low I only had to stand on a small stool to reach it, but all the other ceilings in the house are high – over eight feet – so that’s me, wobbling almost at the very top of a stepladder, clutching a pot of paint and praying I won’t drop it, or worse, fall off.

Again, I had the same problem with the Dulux paint that’s supposed to go on pink and dry up white. My house is dark and shady, and the pink is just not pink enough. It’s impossible to see where you’ve been. I resorted to touching the ceiling to see if it was wet.

It took all day but at last, it was finished, sort of. Getting down and looking at it in different lights, I know there are bits I’ve missed. Am I getting back up there to touch those patches up? No. I don’t think anyone is going to be sitting in my dining room, looking up at the ceiling, and judging me.

Then I started on the walls. It’s so awkward trying to paint in a small room with most of the furniture pushed into the middle and where you must be up and down a ladder, constantly moving it and trying to get into corners. It took me two days to get the first coat on, then I was back to work on Saturday and the Maker’s Market was on Sunday.

I enjoy these little local markets. The pitch is £5 so I only need to sell one book to make money. The previous two months I’d sold £50 of books each time – which, okay, isn’t going to set the world on fire but at least it’s a few sold, it’s spreading the word about me (and my fellow local authors), and it’s a chance to connect with readers at a personal level.

I expected this month to be the same, but we were much busier, and I was very surprised when I added up my takings at the end of the day to find I’d sold £97 worth of books – almost double what I usually do. I was offering a free gift-wrapping service and a few people bought books as Christmas presents, which was lovely.

Not so lovely is my car. Going to work on the first Monday of the month, to my horror it wouldn’t start. I tried and tried, kept turning the key and revving the engine, but nothing. Every single light came on across the dashboard, but the engine refused to start. Not knowing what to do – I was opening the shop and knew if I was late and the shop wasn’t opened on time, I would be in serious trouble – I phoned my boss and let him know the situation.

Take a taxi, was his curt response. A little taken aback I phoned a local taxi company and to my great relief they got to me quickly and I clocked into work with seconds to go before my shift started. Once I was safely clocked in at work, I phoned my parents and told them what had happened. Vastly relieved when I was told my father and brother would call around my house that afternoon and look at it, I planned to get the bus home when I left work at five. At least those two months without a car meant I knew the bus timetable by heart.

As it turned out, my dad and my brother got to mine so late that by the time they’d finished looking at the car – and not finding anything wrong with it and the wretched thing starting every time for them – it was almost five so Dad picked me up from work. I phoned my garage and told them the situation and arranged to take it in on Wednesday which was my next day off. Getting home, I tried the car, and it flew into life the first time. Okay…

The next day, I went out and tried the car thirty minutes before I needed to go to work. If it didn’t work then it would give me plenty of time to catch the bus. It flew into life. Great. I went back in and finished getting ready. Thirty minutes later, yep, you’ve guessed it, the car was as dead as a dodo. Climbing out and thinking I’d have to fork out for a taxi again, a neighbour came out and saw me kicking the tyres and doing a John Cleese on my car. Upon hearing the problem, he immediately offered me a lift to work which I gratefully accepted. I caught the bus home at the end of my shift, unable to believe after spending all that money on a new car that I was once again relying on public transport.

Wednesday and the car was very reluctant to start. Revving the guts out of the engine, I finally got it going. The garage is only on the other side of the town but there are five sets of traffic lights between my house and it, and every single one was red. Keeping my revs up because I was terrified the car was about to die, I could see other drivers giving me funny looks – no doubt wondering why I was being such an impatient arse. Dropping the car off at the garage, I walked home, going to the library and doing a few other chores on the way.

When the garage called later that day, they told me the battery was knackered and it had to have a new one. Cost – £100. Taking a deep breath, I told them to go ahead and then I phoned the seller I’d bought the car off. It was still under warranty and although I knew the battery probably wasn’t covered, I thought I’d try. Nope. Very sorry, the battery isn’t covered by the warranty.

So, the garage replaced the battery, and I went to collect my car. It started the first time, with no hesitation or stuttering. Great, I went to Tesco and did my shopping thinking, okay, it’s cost me £100 I hadn’t budgeted for but at least it’s now fixed.

Not being on shift the next day, it wasn’t until I went to go to work on Saturday that I found I still had problems. The car did not want to start. I revved and revved, foot pumping furiously until finally with a thump from the engine, the car started, and I got it to work. I work with men, so of course, they were interested in the problem and had endless discussions about what it might be. At the end of the day, they lurked in the car park as I tried to start the car. Pulling faces at my efforts to get it started and at the belch of purple smoke from the exhaust when I finally did, they cheered as I drove away.

Sunday was the Maker’s Market, and the garage was shut. On Monday, I phoned again to tell them there was still a problem. Bring it down, they said. After a few painful minutes of stamping on the accelerator and muttering curses, the car finally started, and I got it to them. They kept it for two days and then phoned me.

We can’t find anything wrong with it, they said. We keep trying it and it flies into life every time.

Not knowing what else to do, I walked to the garage. But, when I tried to start the engine it wouldn’t start. I tried several times then ran back inside to alert the mechanic. Very excited, he hurried out after me and I tried again. This time, yep, you’ve guessed it, the wretched thing flew into life every single time I tried.

At this point I have two theories – (a) the car hates me, and (b) the car is possessed by a demon that hates me.

I drove home, completely baffled.

Wednesday and Thursday. It was a fight both days to get the car to start and on the advice of the men at work, I phoned the garage and booked the car in for a full service, hoping it would sort out the problem.

Friday, my next day off. I needed to go shopping so drove to Tesco. But, when I tried to start the car to come home it was dead. Every single light lit up on the dashboard but there was nothing from the engine, no matter how hard I pumped the gas or how many times I tried. I phoned the garage, again. The mechanic was just finishing something and then he’d come and see if he could get the car started.

Twenty minutes ticked by. Concerned about the frozen food in the boot, I phoned my parents. They had said they were calling at mine anyway to drop off more wood for my fire, and I knew they’d probably be on their way. I explained what had happened, please can you come and find me in Tesco car park and take my shopping home.

I sat there a bit longer. The heavens opened and torrential rain smashed onto the windshield. I sat there, staring at it, thinking about the load of washing hanging on the line.

Life, I muttered, at least start using lubricant.

I called the garage again and got an answerphone. I kept trying the car. Nothing. There was a knock on my door, it was my mother. I opened the door and tried again to show her the problem – and the car started!

Follow me to the garage, I ordered, praying the car would get me there. I tried the garage again. We’re on our way, they said.

No, stay there, I told them, I’ve managed to get the car started!

Keeping my revs up, I babied the car to the garage, my parents following. They were in my father’s van so there was room for my shopping, but not for me.

I’ll walk home, I told them, and off they went.

I walked home. Luckily, it had stopped raining. On the way, I bought a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I wanted doughnuts, but there weren’t any, so cookies it had to be.

I had planned to paint that day, but by the time my parents had gone, it was lunchtime. I had no idea if the garage would call and I’d have to get changed and walk back to get the car, so I baked instead. Going through the cupboard I’d found half a bag of dried fruit, some candied peel, and half a bag of walnuts and had decided to make a big fruit cake. I had enough ingredients to make four cakes plus eight mini apple and cherry crumbles. The cake I portioned up, wrapped, and froze, so I have enough fruit cake to last until next year.

Pausing to have a coffee, I scrolled through Instagram and noticed a post by one of the authors in my local group. She was talking about going to a poetry and open mic event that evening. An event I had a ticket to but had completely forgotten about. Well, not so much forgotten about, but hadn’t realised it was that evening. Panicking a bit, I dashed about the house until I found the ticket, cooked an early dinner, and got ready to go. Briefly, I’d thought about cancelling. After the day I’d had, could I be bothered to drag myself out? But, I had the ticket and didn’t want to let my friend down, so I went and was very pleased I did. It was a fun evening. We both put our names down to read one of our poems and afterwards went for a drink. I think it did me good to relax and forgot about everything – even if it was only for one evening.

That was Friday. It’s now Saturday evening. I’ve spent the day getting the second coat on in the dining room. There has been no word about my car. My mother can give me a lift to work tomorrow before she goes to church, but as it’s a Sunday and there are no buses, that will be me either walking home or possibly getting a lift with one of my colleagues, depending on who is on. I’m at work on Monday but on a 9:30-5:00 shift which means I can catch a bus there and back.

I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I guess either something so simple that it’s easy to fix and ridiculously cheap or something that’s covered by the warranty. The situation is frustrating and stressful, and I could do without it right now. But that seems to be the way my life works. I will keep you posted.

Meanwhile, I must wait two days before any more decorating work can be done. I think the dining room will need a third coat and then there will be all the woodwork to sand, prime, and paint. Then there’s the Welsh dresser and the basket unit to sand, prime, and paint. The pipes in the bathroom need painting. Plus, I have decorating projects lined up for the bedrooms.

I might be finished by Christmas, at least, I hope I am.

I keep thinking one day I will be straight. One day I’ll be able to chat with you about how great things are. Sadly, today is not that day.

Take care guys.

Julia Blake

What an incredibly full-on fortnight it’s been. And before you ask, no, I haven’t even made a start on the dining room yet, there have been too many other matters to attend to. The week off which I assumed would be ample time to start and even complete the dining room was taken up by bits and bobs that didn’t look like they’d take long when I wrote them on the list, then did.

All the woodwork in the bathroom needed a light sanding, two coats of primer, and then two coats of paint. I had loads of the grey wood paint left over from the basement so was using that. It’s a nice grey and tones in with the bathroom perfectly. Anyone who has painted in a bathroom will know how fiddly and time-consuming it is though. It’s not like a wall where once you’ve done the cutting in, you can bish-bosh it on. It’s almost continuous cutting in with all the skirting boards, the door, the frame, and around the glass panels in the door.

I took my time because I didn’t want to get paint everywhere. Much of it was done listening to the funeral commentary on the radio, with frequent breaks for me to dash through and see the important bits on the TV.

I found it incredibly moving and must admit I welled up a couple of times. It was all so beautiful, so solemn, and just so, so British!

Tuesday morning. I had an appointment first thing at the local recycling centre and loaded up the car with the old bathroom cabinet, the laundry basket, and a ton of old cardboard. A very nice man saw me struggling to lift the cabinet from the car, quietly took it from me and heaved it into the dumpster. We both listened for the anticipated smash, then pulled disappointed faces at one another as it landed intact on a pile of rubbish.

Then I shot off to the St Nicholas Hospice donation centre close by with a large box and a bag of stuff for charity. The fleecy hanging radiator bed that had traumatised my cat so much she’d refused to use it was on top of the box. The man took one look and pulled a face.

HIM: Sorry, nothing to do with animals.

ME:  Oh, what? Why?

HIM: Contamination, fleas, lice, infection, you name it.

ME:  But it’s never been used. You can see it’s new. My cat wouldn’t go near it.

HIM: Doesn’t matter, rules are rules, we can’t take it.

Meekly, I took the offending item back and drove to Tesco to pick up a much-needed shopping order. I was seriously out of food. Back home, I put away the shopping, and then put a message on the road’s WhatsApp asking if anyone wanted the cat bed before I binned it. Two minutes later a reply came. My neighbour over the road had seen the message during her lunch break and read it out loud. A colleague gave a little whimper, and when asked if she’d like it for Mr Socks nodded enthusiastically. So, it went to a good home.

The old radiator went on the local things for sale group and was sold for £15. The remaining three items went on eBay, and I got £50 for the lot. I posted them off last Monday and I’m hoping they reached the buyers safely, what with the Royal Mail strike.

And that’s all the clutter gone from my house. Not only is it a great feeling to have had such a thorough clear-out, but I made £230 from selling off unwanted things, which isn’t too bad.

I then spent the rest of the day painting the second coat of paint on the bathroom woodwork, and lightly sanding down the inside of the front door and the large wooden radiator cover in the hall. I also paid a trip to the local hardware store to buy paint for the dining room walls, more primer because I’d used it all in the bathroom, a small tin of white interior metal paint for the bathroom pipes, and a pot of good-quality heavy cream wooden furniture paint. When did paint get so expensive? That lot came to £80!

Wednesday. I managed to get two coats of primer on the door and the radiator cover. In between the coats drying I did laundry and housework.

Thursday. One coat of top paint on the door and radiator cover. Then a friend called around with the steampunk outfit she’d offered to lend me for Norwich Comic-Con (NorCon) where I had a stall that weekend. A long black ruched lace dress, various goggles and a genuine Sam Browne gun belt with leather pouch and gun holster to use instead of my normal boring money belt. Would it fit? My friend is taller than me and a good deal thinner. After she’d left, I tried the dress on. Holding my breath, I eased the zip up. Yay, it fitted. There were only a couple of issues. It was sleeveless and as my sleeveless days are over I would need something like a shrug to cover the tops of my arms. Also, whilst long and flowing at the back, the dress was shorter at the front. Considerably shorter. Think kissing the hem of my knickers shorter.

Gulp. I don’t have the confidence in my thighs to pull that look off. There was nothing for it. A trip around the charity shops was in order. Luckily, Bury St Edmunds seems to have more charity shops than normal ones, so I was confident I’d find something.

By shop four I was getting worried, so I popped into the fancy dress and party supply shop to see if they had anything. No shrug or something to wear under the dress, but they did have bowler hats for £5 which I reckoned with the goggles on would look fine.

Two shops further on, I found a calf-length black silky evening skirt with a pattern of bugle beads for £3.50 which I figured would do. In a retro shop in the town centre, I found a simple black shrug which would cover the offending bingo wings, then in another charity shop, I found a heavy, black beaded, gothic-looking necklace. Perfect. My outfit was complete. Hurrying home, I found black tights that didn’t have a hole in them and tried everything on together just to make sure. Yep. It all looked okay. I then painted a second coat on the door and radiator cover.

Fellow author, Rachel Churcher, who was also doing NorCon, was going to drive up to the venue on Friday evening and claim our tables and make sure everything was in order. Therefore, she’d asked if we could get our tablecloths to her Thursday afternoon, so I wandered around to hers at about four-ish, arriving as the other author doing NorCon, Mary McGuire, arrived with her cloth.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon, so we sat in Rachel’s courtyard and drank tea and chatted until quite late. Walking home past the fish and chip shop, the aroma reduced me to a drooling, famished wreck so I bought fish and chips for my dinner and very nice they were too.

Friday. Examining the door and radiator cover, I decided they needed one more coat. I still had lots of paint left. Honestly, this pot of grey paint is like the leprechaun’s never-ending bottle of beer. Then there was just time to write and post a book review before it was the usual zoom meet-up with my local author group where we made plans for NorCon that weekend. We finished the meeting earlier than usual and I made sure my trolley and books were all packed up and everything was ready for a very early start on Saturday. Quick drink with the neighbours, then it was dinner and an early night.

Saturday. I’d set both my alarm clock and my phone so was awoken at 5am with both droning away in my ear. Blinking stupidly, trying to persuade my body it really did want to get up, I dragged myself out of bed and got ready. I was picking up Mary at 6:30am so needed plenty of time for breakfast, wiggling into my costume, and loading up the car.

Mary was waiting when I arrived, so we piled all her boxes of books into my car, and we were off. I was slightly alarmed at the number of books she was taking – over four times more than me – and wondered if I’d brought enough. Oh well, I thought, nothing I can do about it now.

We were off by 6:45, I knew the way to Norwich but would be relying on Mary to guide us to the Norfolk showground where the event was taking place.

It was a reasonably uneventful journey, apart from Mary’s route finder having a funny five minutes and taking us off the main road and detouring us through the back of beyond. Creeping along country lanes that were narrowing to the point of barely being wider than the car, we kept exchanging worried glances. After taking us a good twenty minutes out of our way we finally popped back onto the road we had been on and reached the showground before 8am. Parking in the traders’ car park, we found Rachel and her husband and lugged our first load to our table. We were in the creator’s aisle where you had to be selling something you’d created yourself. As we were opposite the guest stars who were there to sign autographs and sell photos and other such merchandise, we hoped we’d be busy.

Behind us was a small exhibit area where a martial arts group were offering light sabre lessons. They were amazing and a part of me desperately wanted to have a go, but all strapped up in a long flowing frock as I was, I didn’t think it was a good idea. Didn’t want to bust the zip. Besides, I was there to make money not spend it.

A frantic half hour followed as we set up our tables the way we wanted them and readied ourselves.

As we had two tables we originally had four of us splitting them between us, but at the last minute one person dropped out so Rachel offered the spot to an author we’d met at the St Alban’s Comic-Con. He only lived at King’s Lynn, so Norwich was closer to him than it was for us. His name was Mark Ashbury and he had published a couple of fantasy books. He arrived as we were setting up. A great guy, unfortunately, he couldn’t come on Sunday morning because he was volunteering at a duck sanctuary. I initially misheard him and thought he said a dog sanctuary and we talked at cross purposes for a few minutes before I realised my mistake.

A fellow author friend of ours, Amy Warren, had a stall just around the corner so she popped over to say hello and buy a book from each of us. I hoped it wouldn’t be my only sale of the weekend.

They let the early birds in, people started milling about, and we all held our breath in anticipation.

This weekend was a total unknown for us. Would we sell anything? Would anyone even talk to us? How busy was it going to be?

Well, I can tell you it was epic!! So much fun. Many people were dressed up and had gone to a lot of work and effort with their costumes. We had a steady stream of people coming to our table, chatting to us about our books, taking cards and fliers, and occasionally even buying. Driving home that evening with Mary, we tried to figure out how much we’d taken. Most of our payments having been taken on our card machines it was hard to tot it all up.

One funny thing, I had to get petrol on the way home and ended up flouncing into the petrol station to pay in full steampunk regalia. The man behind the till just raised his eyebrows in a bored, “seen it all before” look. I’d been invited to go to the pub for a quick dinner by Rachel and Alan so as soon as I got home I jumped in the shower, got ready in record time and was walking into the pub courtyard a mere thirty minutes after getting home. I’d also taken the time to add up my cash takings for the day which came to £47, so not bad.

Sunday. As our books were already at the show, Mary was able to take us in her Lotus – in which there’s barely enough room for me and my hat, let alone a ton of books. Right from the off, it was clear Sunday was going to be a different day. It seemed more alive and energetic compared to Saturday. The crowd were buzzing, it felt like we were busier and sold more, but again, until I had my card payment report come through it was impossible to tell for sure. (NB. I actually did slightly better on Saturday than Sunday, even though I would have sworn it was the other way around).

One wonderful thing did happen, a young girl who’d bought a copy of Black Ice on Saturday, came back on Sunday to tell me she’d started reading it Saturday evening, couldn’t put it down, and that it was now her new favourite book, and she was telling all her friends about it.

Something like that is absolute gold for an author and it completely made my day.

Getting home that evening I was utterly and completely drained. By the time I’d unloaded my remaining books from Rachel’s car – they’d very kindly brought everything home in their car because, as I said before, Lotus – gratifyingly, I’d taken three full boxes of books and only brought back one, got changed and fed the cat, I was ready for dinner and bed.

Thankfully, I had Monday off and devoted the day to catch up on admin, correspondence, and other stuff that had been lurking on my to-do list for months. Too exhausted to even think about making a start on the dining room – and besides, I was back to work the next day so what was the point – it felt good to clear the decks of all those annoying tasks that had mounted up.

Tuesday and Wednesday. Workdays so what can I say? Although I did have the report from my card machine come through and rather to my delighted surprise I’d taken over £220 at NorCon, which is brilliant. In all, cash plus card and discounting the £20 float I took, I sold £318 of books.

Thursday. Sick of living in a dusty, cobwebby filthy house, I set to and cleaned it from top to bottom. I love Autumn, but I hate all the spiders coming into the house to find shelter for the winter. Cobwebs, so many cobwebs. It was a breezy, sunny day so I took down my net curtains, washed them, and got them out on the line, then washed all my windows and surrounds thoroughly.

Yes, maybe I should have made a start on the dining room, but I can do that when it’s raining, and the windows were so grim I was ashamed of them.

Friday. I dashed to Tesco and picked up a simply enormous shop. I’d decided to devote Friday and Saturday to a major cook-in and fill my freezer with home-cooked healthy meals. With energy bills set to rise to scary amounts, it made sense to get all my cooking for the next month done in one go and then simply reheat my meal each evening in the microwave. It’s also tough cooking for just one so batch cooking then freezing down in individual portions seemed sensible as well. At the end of a long day, I’d done well, and my freezer was two-thirds full of neat little containers of single portions. But it was getting late, so I decided to save the rest for the next day.

Saturday. Early start, I needed to get cooking. I also needed to write my blog. Both these tasks I knew would take most of the day. When I’d been in Wilks the day before buying foil containers I’d noticed that they were selling off several sets of 12-piece dining sets in a lovely deep blue earthenware for only £8. I went home and thought about it.

Do you think it’s a good idea, I asked Franki over WhatsApp, if I get one of those dining sets for the Airbnb guests to use, rather than our tatty, chipped, and mismatched collection of crockery.

YES! Came the immediate answer.

I went back to Wilks Saturday morning, hoping there’d still be one left. Knowing my luck, I thought, they’ll probably all be gone. But no, there were quite a few boxes left. I looked at them. Hopped from foot to foot as I thought about it, then found an obliging assistant and got him to take three boxes to the till for me. They agreed to store two boxes with customer services for a couple of minutes whilst I took first one box home, then came back twice for the other two.

I unpacked and put them through the dishwasher, and heaved out all my offending crockery. It’s all going, every plate, bowl, and side plate, to be replaced with the lovely new set. They are a beautiful shape and colour and, unlike my old sets, fit perfectly in the new dishwasher. I know I didn’t need them, as such, but I wanted them, and getting a new set of twelve matching bowls, side plates, and dinner plates for only £24 is an absolute bargain.

And now it’s late Saturday afternoon, and the smell of shepherd’s pie cooking is wafting through from the kitchen making my mouth water. I’m almost done, there’s just the beef stew to put together and I’ve already prepped all the veg for it. I might have a portion of the stew for my dinner tonight, together with a cheesy stuffed jacket potato that I didn’t freeze with the others, and one of the eight mini cherry and rhubarb crumbles I made – the rhubarb came from my father’s garden.

Oh, and speaking of cherries. With the shopping were two large bottles of vodka which I’ve made into cherry vodka ready for Christmas for the family plus gifts for people.

I’m feeling a warm glow of thrifty housewife at all my hard work, and it does feel like something off Little House on the Prairie. Cooking meals to store for the cold winter ahead and looking for ways to save the pennies. Speaking of which, I need to go and lay a fire for the evening. Although it’s been reasonably warm today as soon as late afternoon creeps upon us the temperature drops. I’ve had a fire almost every evening for the past week, anything rather than putting the heating on. I don’t think I’m alone in deciding to think long and hard about whether I turn it on or not. Here in the UK energy prices have increased by 215% since this time last year and I think a lot of us will be going cold this winter. At least I’m lucky and have fires I can use.

Anyway, I’m getting cold sitting here and I think I need to check on progress in the kitchen. I’ve had to cook more mash topping for the shepherd’s pies because I didn’t allow for making four small ones instead of one big one, so I’ve had to put more potatoes on to boil.

As we head into October, I hope you’re all well and safe and that life is treating you kindly. Cheers until next time.

Julia Blake

Many apologies for not posting a blog last week. What can I say? Time seriously got away from me. Although I had the week off work it was completely taken up with decorating, having a new bathroom installed, and getting Franki ready to return to university. By the time I fell into bed exhausted on Saturday night, I realised I had forgotten my blog was due and hadn’t written one. Never mind, I thought, I’ll get up early Sunday and write it. Nope. My body decided I was too tired and by the time I awoke at almost eight, I was running late for the Maker’s Market I was supposed to be at by nine. Anyway, more of that week later.

Firstly, of course, I can’t go on without saying something about the death of our beloved Queen. It was such a shock when the news broke, and it is difficult to process that her long reign is over. Whatever you may personally feel, it cannot be denied that she served this country and its people faithfully. No royal works as hard as she did, and she will be missed.

A true lady in every sense of the word, her devotion to her country was an inspiration. Listening to the comments of the people in The Queue, it is astounding how many have travelled so far and endured so long a wait simply to have a moment of quiet reflection with her. A truly momentous moment in history, we will never see the likes of this again.

RIP Ma’am, we are grateful for all that you have done for us.

How do I feel about Charles? I am hopeful he has inherited his mother’s strength of purpose and commitment to duty, but time will tell. He has big shoes to fill. Although I must admit, it does feel odd saying Long Live the King.

And now onto the blog.

Several of you messaged to ask about the blood-soaked crazy man running amok on my road after smashing his head through two of my neighbours’ glass front doors, before threatening others and finally being arrested by the police. They took him away and we assumed he’d be going to prison for quite some time. Nope. He was out the very next day on bail and once again living with his girlfriend in the block of flats opposite! This led to some anxious discussions as we feared he would once again come looking for revenge on us. For some reason, he holds us responsible for all his actions and blames us for calling the police. Mate, you threaten people with a knife, throw all your belongings out of a second-storey window, and smash up people’s houses with your head, of course, we’re going to call the police.

Anyway, a few days later we heard that he’d been sent to prison for a year. Not for all the damage to property, threatening behaviour, or even for attacking the police. No, he was sentenced for breaking a restraining order and a community order. Both Franki and I have given statements, twice, but I haven’t heard any more so assume we will not be required to give evidence in court, which is a relief.

In other news, my new bathroom is almost complete. There are a couple of finishing touches to do, and I’m still waiting for the builder to come and replace the window and plaster the ceiling, but the bulk of the work is now done.

It was … interesting … the week the bathroom was installed. I had managed to take the whole week off work. The plumber was scheduled to begin work early on Monday and was confident it would all be complete by Thursday afternoon. Great, I thought, that all works out nicely. We were going out with my parents for dinner Thursday evening so it would be nice to have it all done. I planned to write my blog Friday morning, attend my local authors’ group Friday evening, and have Saturday to help Franki begin the mammoth task of packing up for university. Sunday I was going to be at a Maker’s Market all day, then it was back to work on Monday.

But as my regular readers will know, the best-laid plans of mice and Julia are all filed away somewhere.

Monday. We were both up and finished in the bathroom by 8:30 – the time the plumber said he would be here. Time ticked on. At nine he texted me – running a little late, with you soon. Okay, that’s fine. At ten he phoned me. His tyre had blown in the middle of nowhere, he’d be a bit later than planned. Right. At almost eleven, he phoned again. He couldn’t get the tyre off so was waiting for the RAC. Very sorry, but I’ll be with you asap. Okaaay, deep breath, these things happen.

Whilst all this was happening, I was painting in the basement. The whole week off was earmarked for decorating the basement. At midday, I texted him asking what was happening and if he was okay. He called me back. I’m so in the middle of nowhere, he explained, that the RAC have only just found me.

I told him to be careful of the locals and if he heard banjos, to run.

I carried on painting. By this time, we’d managed to apply the first coat of primer to all the woodwork. Quite a large task as the original colour was a deep, chocolate brown and we were changing it to grey, so it needed a good primer/undercoat.

Mid-afternoon, another text from the missing plumber – be with you soon.

An hour later, another text – be with you really, really soon.

At four-thirty I texted him – would it be a good idea to write today off and make a fresh start tomorrow?

Back came an immediate reply – yes, see you tomorrow at eight.

Hmm, okay. I applied a second coat of primer, then washed up as best I could and made dinner.

Tuesday morning – I showered and again we made sure the bathroom was clear by eight. The plumber turned up just after nine. Because he was now a day behind, he set to with vigour ripping everything except the toilet out of the bathroom. A smashed-up bath and sink lay forlornly out in the garden being rained upon. Everything from the bathroom was stacked up on the dining room table. We were cleaning our teeth and washing in the kitchen sink. We had no shower. And, after a full-on day of decorating, trust me, I needed one.

Tuesday, we managed to get two coats of paint on all the walls. Franki helped a little, but she had a ton of university work to get through so the lion’s share of the decorating fell to me.

I’ll be here bright and early on Wednesday, the plumber promised.

Will it still be finished by Thursday evening? I asked.

Oh yes, he assured me with confidence. I’ve really caught up today.

Wednesday morning dawned bright and sunny – with no sign of the plumber. At nine he called me; the builder’s merchant had let him down and my bath hadn’t been delivered. He was very sorry, but the bath was crucial and without it, he couldn’t progress any further. They’d promised him it would be delivered early Thursday direct to me, and he’d work until whenever Thursday night to get the job done.

I looked around my empty shell of a bathroom containing only a toilet and I did not share his confidence.

Still, I carried on painting. The ceiling had been done to the best of my abilities. My house is very shadowy, and I always struggle with painting ceilings because I can’t see which bit I’ve done and which I haven’t. This time though, I spent the extra money and bought the Dulux paint which goes on pink and dries up white. Brilliant, I thought, no more peering at the ceiling and having to resort to touching it to tell which bit is wet and which is still dry, this is the solution.

Only, it wasn’t.

Oh, I’m sure if you’re in a well-lit house and the painter has 20/20 vision it works a treat, but, as I said, my house is dim and shadowy – no matter how many lights you put on – and my eyesight is far from being 20/20 – more like 9 and a bit on a good day. Also, the paint was disappointingly not very pink at all. I’m not sure how pink I was expecting it to be, not shocking certainly, but maybe something a tad darker than it was. For all those of a certain age, you might remember the hint of range of Dulux colours that were popular in the eighties. There was bluebell white, oat white, daffodil white etc, all basically white with a whisper of another colour. Well, this pink was the rose white, in that you’d be hard-pressed to see it was pink at all.

Muttering curses under my breath, I peered at the ceiling and dabbed uncertainly at where I thought it was possibly a different shade of white meaning I hadn’t done that bit yet. Franki came down into the basement and tried to be helpful. Shining her phone up at the ceiling, she pointed doubtfully – I think that bit needs doing, I think.

I did a couple of hit-and-miss coats then gave up. It’s better than it was and at least it’s clean.

We also managed to get the first coat of paint on all the woodwork and that was Wednesday.

Thursday. The plumber had pledged to be at ours by eight to make an early start to try and make up for two missed days now.

Unsurprisingly, he was over an hour late, but he went to work with gusto, throwing cheery motivational remarks our way as he took over the kitchen and started building all the vanity units. In hindsight, I honestly don’t know why he hadn’t come Wednesday and built all the units then. There were quite a few and they took him much of Thursday. He also could have taken away a van load of the rubbish, which would have saved time later.

We were supposed to be going out for dinner with my parents that evening. By mid-afternoon the plumber was showing no signs of slowing down, we still had no shower and, after three days of hard physical graft, there was no way I could be in polite society – or upwind of anyone. My hair was splattered with paint, we were both exhausted, and I was uncomfortable going out for the evening and leaving the plumber alone in the house.

So, we spoke to my parents, and they agreed it would be a good idea to postpone the dinner until Saturday, Hopefully, I’d be able to take a shower and wash my hair by then.

That left us with no dinner. I went and peered around the dining room door. The kitchen was crammed full of partially constructed units, tools, and plumber. No way would I be able to even heat up a pizza in there. We ordered a takeaway and took refuge in the lounge.

At going on for nine, I went through to talk to the plumber.

I think you need to admit defeat, I gently told him. Realistically, you’re not going to finish tonight.

He looked at me and his face fell. No, he reluctantly agreed, I’m not.

Go home, I told him. Get something to eat and get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.

Okay, he said. I’ll be here by eight.

So, that’s nine thirty then? I thought but didn’t say.

Off he went. I noticed that the huge packing crate the bath had been delivered in was still standing in the road behind my car. I knew the neighbours were probably not happy about it, so thought I’d put something about it on the road’s WhatsApp but went to bed and forget.

Friday. We awoke to some sarcastic comments about the crate on the WhatsApp page and hastily reassured them that yes, it would be going today.

The plumber turned up at eight-thirty – getting better. Meanwhile, work continued apace down in the basement. We’d decided to spruce up the large window area with some new grey, stick-down, mosaic effect tiles so popped to the shops to buy some. I’d decided it would be a good idea to get some thin board and cut it to perfectly fit the window area and stick the tiles onto them. My thinking was if ever rain got into that part I could lift the boards and dry it out. Also, it would be easier to clean and paint the walls in the future. I had begun chipping up the old cork tiles that were there and realised what a horrible job it was so figured if at any point I needed to replace the new tiles, not having them stuck directly to the ground would be a darn sight easier.

The first cork tile came up so easily you see, it had lulled me into a false sense of security that they’d all be that easy to remove. Of course, they weren’t! The rest had to be prised up with a chisel and hammer, came up in tiny pieces and took me most of the day to do. I also hurt my wrist from using the hammer so much.

When we got home with the two pieces of board and the tiles, the plumber was in the street cutting up the bath crate.

Are you up for a bribe? I asked him.

A bribe? What sort of bribe?

A cup of proper coffee and a custard doughnut.

There’s not a lot a man wouldn’t do for a coffee and a doughnut. What do you want?

I showed him the two pieces of board.

If I give you the measurements, could you please cut these to size for me?

He insisted on measuring the area again. Luckily, my measurements were spot on. He then cut them for me in a matter of seconds using his cutting tool thingie and Franki and I had fun sticking the tiles on. They really have made a difference to the window area and smartened it up nicely.

Saturday. No plumber, but then we weren’t expecting him back until Monday morning to finish up. We had the bathroom in – sort of. At least the shower was in, well, almost in. There was no sealant so the plumber told me to keep the water below the level in the bath otherwise it would flood under the tub. I was so desperate to have a shower, I didn’t care.

We had to get more tiles to finish the window, so we whizzed to the shop and then finished the last few pieces. We moved furniture back into place and Franki built the two small shelving units ready to go up in the basement. I tidied up the ground floor as best I could and cleaned the kitchen. On our way to the shop to buy tiles, we stopped at the recycling centre and disposed of the old radiator cover from the basement, a broken typing chair, and all the cardboard from the bathroom vanity units.

Mid-afternoon, I was able to stop, have a shower and wash my hair. It was bliss to be clean again. At four I had to dash to Argos to collect the new laundry basket I wanted, and then my parents turned up at five. As requested, Dad brought his drill to put up the two shelving units, and the new blind, and put a padlock on the cupboard door in the basement. We plan to store all our DVDs in there and Franki was convinced unless it was locked then Airbnb guests might steal them. Don’t think anyone in their right mind would steal her Barbie DVDs but hey ho.

We had time to do the shelves only, because, of course, they took longer than anticipated.

Our table was booked for six-thirty, so we wandered down to the restaurant at six. It was very busy, and we had a lovely evening. It was so nice to relax, have a glass of wine, and have a meal that someone else had thought about, cooked, and cleared away from. The others had dessert, but I wasn’t hungry enough so instead, I had a tiramisu martini, which was the height of sophisticated bliss and a real treat.

Totally relaxed, we went home, and it was as I was cleaning my teeth that I realised it had been two weeks since I last blogged. Bugger, I thought, I’ll have to get up early and write a short one. But my body – possibly done in by a week of hard physical graft, a big meal, a relaxing evening, two glasses of red wine, and a cocktail – said no, and for once refused to wake at six as normal.

Opening my eyes at just gone eight Sunday morning, I realised I didn’t have time to blog as I had to be at the Maker’s Market by nine to set up ready for the doors to open at ten.

Despite being tired, I enjoyed the market. I sold about £50 worth of books but spoke to a lot of people and handed out lots of cards, so maybe seeds were sown which will later grow into book sales. You never know.

Monday and Tuesday were two long days. I was at work for both, then in the evenings was helping Franki to pack and cooking us nice dinners. The plumber was supposed to come Monday to finish the bathroom. He didn’t and I honestly can’t remember why not. But he came Tuesday and did as much as he could. There is a tiny bit of finishing up to do once the builder has taken out the window and plastered the ceiling, but the plumber told me to hold back £150 of the payment to cover those little bits.

One nice thing, when he found out I was a writer he got very excited and sent his wife the link to my website. Apparently, she was all over it and selected The Book of Eve as a good place to begin, so he bought a paperback copy off me which I signed and popped in a nice Julia Blake bag with a bookmark. When he came back on Tuesday he said she’d read the whole book over the weekend, loved it, and had told him to buy a copy of The Forest.

It just goes to show, that readers and selling opportunities can be found in the most unlikely places.

So, my bathroom is more or less complete. I’m now waiting for the builder, and he is waiting for the new window to come into stock. Life is all about waiting for one thing or another.

Wednesday morning, we got up, showered, and packed up the car with all Franki’s things to go back to university. We were on the motorway by midday and had an uneventful run up to Cheshire to where Mx R, Franki’s partner, has rented a house with some friends for her next year of university. On a slightly different course to Franki, they must move to Chester university for their third year. We settled the hamster with Mx Rys – yes, that smelly, biting, noisy, carpet-eating pest of a rodent has gone!!! Forgive me whilst I do a little happy dance. Miss Moo will be living with Mx R now and I think Franki is relieved not to be a hamster single parent anymore.

We ate dinner and then they walked me around the corner to my Airbnb where I was staying the night. I was very interested to experience the whole Airbnb affair from the side of a renter and get some pointers for when I start my own business. There was a tray of tea and coffee things in the room, which was a nice touch and something I will certainly copy. But, I will add a couple of small bottles of water to the tray. When I got to my Airbnb room I realised I didn’t have any water. Yes, I could have gone downstairs to the kitchen and asked for some, but I could hear my hosts down there talking and cooking their dinner and I didn’t like to. I drank some water from the bathroom, but it tasted funny. I think fresh water in the room will be a nice touch.

And then there was the mattress.

Oh, the mattress.

Regular readers will know the issues I’ve had with almost every mattress in every hotel and guesthouse I’ve stayed in over the past year. This one, whilst certainly better than some, was a solid slab of foam no thicker than my finger. I was exhausted so did manage to sleep, off and on, but my back was hurting by the morning. The mattress is the most important thing in the room. It doesn’t matter how many fancy cushions there are, or individual sachets of coffee, if you haven’t slept because of the mattress then they were all for nothing.

Thursday, I was up early and gone. I had a quick breakfast at Mx R’s then we were in the car and on our way to Franki’s university by eight-thirty. Franki was panicking about the cupboard situation in their new house on campus. Apparently, there are good cupboards and bad cupboards. Franki had her heart set on the two cupboards in the kitchen island because they were a generous size and meant that the worktop above would be her space.

Fretting that somebody else might beat her to these desired cupboards, Franki jumped out of the car as soon as we reached the university and rushed off to register and get her key, whilst Mx R and I parked the car and lugged all Franki’s stuff to the door of the house and waited for them.

We needn’t have worried. Franki was the first person to move in so was able to stake their claim on the desired cupboards, and the freezer drawer and fridge space they wanted.

Leaving Franki to start unpacking all the things we’d brought from home, Mx R and I went to the storage unit to collect the first load of belongings. There were more than I remembered putting in there at the beginning of the summer and I wondered if someone had snuck more stuff in or they’d bred!

We filled the car with the first load and went back to the university. Unless someone has done it, they have no idea how much time it takes to transport an entire student’s life at the start of the academic year. Trying to help unpack, collapse boxes, and bag up rubbish as we went, I was relieved Franki was the only student in the house yet. It meant we didn’t have to worry about having mountains and mountains of things everywhere.

Mx R and I went for the next load. I hoped to do it all in two loads. Nope, the boxes kept coming out of the storage pod and I quickly realised it would take three trips. Back to university, we went. By now it’s gone midday. I’m seriously hungry and my blood sugar levels are crashing. I’m also tired, very tired, and when I get tired I get clumsy. Constantly tripping, stumbling, and falling upstairs, I knew I needed to have a break and something to eat and drink.

It was decided to do the supermarket run to stock up Franki with food and other supplies. They also needed a quick trip to the local B&M – a sort of sell everything superstore – for a few essential items, and I needed petrol.

By the time we’d done this and had a lunch break, it was gone two thirty and we still needed to get the last of the stuff from the storage pod. Mx R and I dragged ourselves reluctantly into the car to make the now familiar trip. It was coming up on school run time, so the roads were busier, and it took us longer than the previous two trips. I let the receptionist at the storage company know that the pod had been emptied. We’d paid at the beginning of the year so there was nothing else to do.

Wearily, we went back to the university and carried all the boxes up two flights of stairs. My legs were wobbling and before I could stop myself I fell up the stairs, bashed both my kneecaps and the box I was carrying crashed down with a horrible crunching sound. Horrified, I pulled the box open. It was a printer.

Oh, it’s okay, Franki told me, it was broken anyway.

Then why, I muttered through gritted teeth rubbing at my bruised knees, was I struggling up two flights of stairs with it?

It was getting late. Horribly aware I still had the long journey home and how tired I was, finally, at four, I threw in the towel.

Loading up the car with the broken printer, my overnight case, things Franki had decided they didn’t want and was sending back, plus all the boxes we’d salvaged and collapsed for me to keep until next year, I hugged them goodbye and pointed the car for home at four-thirty.

I don’t like motorway driving very much, but at least the radio works in my new car. Franki doesn’t let me listen to the radio when in the car with me and insists on playing her music. I don’t like the radio; she says, it’s all talking and shit. What they don’t understand is it’s all the talking and shit that helps keep me awake. Listening to the DJ chatter, the news, the weather, and the traffic reports pull me back into the moment. I think if it was a continuous wash of music there’s a real danger I would fall asleep.

I got home at seven-thirty, beaten up – physically, mentally, and emotionally. I unpacked the car and sent texts to let everyone know I was home. Fed the cat, had a plate of pasta, fell into bed, and slept for seven solid hours.

Friday. I wasn’t sure how much I would get done because of being so tired, but to my surprise, I cracked on with things and scrubbed the bathroom from top to toe. It may have been a new bathroom, but it was far from being a clean one. I stripped beds, did laundry, tidied the house, applied two coats of primer to the bathroom door and skirting boards. I sorted all the car boot stuff and loaded it into the car ready for an early start in the morning, realised there was a leaving do for a neighbour that afternoon and cooked some sausage rolls to take. There was quite a bit of food at the do, so I didn’t need to worry about dinner – which was just as well as I seriously need to go shopping. Then I chilled for the evening and had an early night.

Saturday, I was on the road by seven heading to the car boot sale. I really, really didn’t want to do it, but all that stuff had been sitting in the house for two weeks, so something had to be done with it. At the sale two weeks previously, we’d made £100. I didn’t expect to make anywhere near that amount this time. All the big items had been sold, plus it was colder, so I wasn’t expecting so many people. I was right, it was a much quieter affair. I was home by eleven and although I sold a lot of bits and pieces, once the pitch fee was removed I’d made £15 profit. Hardly worth it, but I guess it’s £15 I didn’t have before and a lot of rubbish gone. I will sort through what’s left. One or two things can go on the local Things for Sale Facebook page, some stuff will go to charity, and the rest will be dumped at the local recycling centre when it re-opens after the long weekend.

The rest of Saturday has been spent writing this simply enormous blog to make up for missing a week. I’m planning a nice dinner tonight in front of the TV. I may even light a small fire. The temperature has plummeted, and the nights are cold. I’m not switching the heating on though. Not until absolutely necessary. I have plenty of wood and coal and as there’s only me in the house I can make do with fires. I feel an early night is also in order as I’m back to work tomorrow for a six-hour shift before having another eight days off. It’s a pain going back for such a short time, but that’s the way it worked out, so hey ho.

And that’s it, you’re all caught up. Apologies again for missing last week, but I’m sure after reading this you can see how it happened. Take care and enjoy the weekend.

All the best.

Julia Blake

What a busy two weeks it’s been. On top of working an extra day each week as overtime, I’ve also had my new dishwasher delivered and installed. I hadn’t appreciated how useless my old one was until I used the new one. My old dishwasher was random with its cleaning abilities. Sometimes, it would finish a cycle and announce – “I’ve cleaned everything in here except that plate because I didn’t like that plate,” or, more usually, “I’ve cleaned nothing in here except that plate.” I could only use the 60-degree hot wash if I had any chance of anything being cleaned, and there were optimal cleaning spots. Top tier, front left, you were confident anything put there would come out clean. Lower tier, nope, forget it.

Anyway, the new one was delivered on a Saturday and stood in the dining room until my appliance man could come the following Monday and install it. That was fun. Watching the poor man struggle to fit it I was very pleased he was doing it and not me. He took the old one away and that was that.

My new car was delivered that evening. So far, so good. It drives well and is comfortable. It wants to go fast though, driving at thirty miles an hour around town I can feel it straining on its leash and I wonder if the “boy racer” label usually attached to the drivers of Ford Fiestas is because the car has the need for speed.

As we normally name our cars, this one has been called Ruby. It’s a red car and Ruby is also one of the characters from my book Erinsmore, so it seemed apt. It is such a relief not to be relying on the bus. I mean, I managed, but two months without a car was a struggle.

The plumber has come back with a quote for the bathroom. To completely strip out the existing furniture, supply and fit all new – including swanky P-shaped bath with shower and curved shower door, a long vanity unit, and heated towel rail – retiling as necessary and making good, he has quoted £2500. This is a fair quote for that amount of work, so I’ve accepted it. Not that I had much choice, he was the only plumber I could find who was prepared to even talk to me, let alone come and give me a quote.

The house is upside down right now. My new boiler is being installed so there are workmen, pipes, and big boxes of tools in the bathroom, kitchen, and dining room. It’s taken two days. Yesterday we had no water or power for most of the day plus the bathroom was full of workmen. It made the whole toilet situation interesting. I consciously refrained from drinking all day and managed to not need to go from 8am until the workmen left at 4:30pm.

They did switch the water and power back on before they left, but we were still without hot water for the night. I had to wash my hair at least but know from experience that cold showers make me very angry, so I didn’t want to shock myself at 7am with freezing cold water. I have mixer taps and a hose on the bath, so I bent over the bath and just washed my hair in cold water. Still unpleasant, but better than a full shower.

The boiler has now been installed. I’ve been talked through running it and setting up the timer. It looks a bit rough right now. The new boiler is quite a bit smaller than the old one so tiles are missing and the new pipes are raw and copper coloured. I don’t know how I’m going to soften and disguise, but once the new bathroom is in I’ll figure something out.

The basement had to be emptied because part of the ceiling had to come down. I can’t remember if I told you, but an old lead pipe came out of the gas meter and connected to the main inlet pipe. It had to be replaced with a new pipe that complied with modern standards. Problem: the old pipe went under a section of the ceiling. That bit of ceiling would have to come down to access the pipe. This work was included in the quote to replace the boiler, so yesterday yet another workman turned up and proceeded to carry out the work.

He’s done a good job. The whole basement is going to be decorated including repainting the ceiling, so I can easily cover up the new raw ceiling. Franki and I paid a visit to the local hardware store on Wednesday and picked out a pale grey paint for the walls, a darker grey for all the woodwork, and white for the ceiling. This time I paid the extra and bought the special ceiling paint that goes on pink and dries up white. This is a very shadowy house and I know from bitter experience how annoying it is to be up a stepladder, trying to paint, unable to see where you’ve been because of shadows. Then days later, after the stepladder has been returned to Dad and the paint has dried, sitting there, and realise that you’ve missed in several places. I bought a large tin. Not only is there the basement ceiling to paint, but the dining room, the hall and landing ceilings could all do with a fresh coat of paint. The bathroom ceiling will also need doing, and if there’s any left it wouldn’t hurt to put a coat on the kitchen ceiling as well.

Along with a tin of wood primer/undercoat, a couple of bolts, and a bag of paintbrushes, the whole lot came to almost £140!

As it’s the August bank holiday this week, I will be working from Saturday to Tuesday, four full days, so won’t be able to do anything house or decorating-related. Then I have four days off. For the first three days, we will focus on decorating the basement. Not sure we will finish because there is a lot to do. As well as cleaning off all the dust caused by building work, all the woodwork needs a light sand – and there’s a lot of woodwork – then it will need priming and undercoating. The ceiling needs at least a coat. The walls will need two. All the woodwork will need a couple of coats. There are two new shelving units to be put up, a new grey wooden blind to fix, and the room put back to rights.

On the fourth day, we are hoping to do a car boot sale. For all my non-UK friends, this is like a yard sale but instead of piling all the stuff you no longer want in your driveway and hoping people come and buy it, you fill your car with it and go to a designated site where a car boot sale is being held.

This has many advantages over a yard sale. I don’t have a yard or any front of house area I could sell stuff from. My road is not a popular through road so not many people would happen to be passing and see that there is a sale. Some of these car boot sales regularly run all through the summer and have been established for many years, they are popular, and everyone knows about them. Hundreds, if not thousands of people will go to them so the chances of selling your tut are greatly increased. My problem was most car boot sales are held on a Sunday. I do not have a single Sunday over the next six weeks that I’m not working or already booked to do something else. Anyway, we did some research and found a big car boot sale that runs on a Saturday, not a Sunday.

The plan is to go through the house and have a purge of everything we wish to get rid of, then do a car boot sale and hopefully make some pennies to help offset how much money I’m currently spending. If it’s a good sale and we do well, we could even do it the following Saturday as well.

So, you’re now up to date on what’s been happening in the house.

Okay, now to the exciting bit. Something happened in my road yesterday that has shocked us all rigid and that I’m still trying to process.

The boilerman left at about five promising to be back the next day to finish the installation. I tidied up a bit, then was sitting in the lounge. The rain had stopped and as it was a hot and muggy day, the windows were all open. I was quietly sitting on the sofa checking Instagram when I heard breaking glass from outside in the road.

Curious, I went to the window and looked out. The first house in the road is opposite mine and the people who own it are currently living in Greece. Their grown-up son is living there whilst they are away and when I saw a man standing in the porch with his hands braced on either side of the door I assumed it was him. As I watched, he swayed alarmingly, and he was obviously the worse for alcohol. I wondered if the breaking glass was because he’d dropped a bottle. He turned his head, and I realised it wasn’t the son. Now concerned, I pulled aside the curtain to have a better look as he began to curse and shout at the door.

Yelling, “Come out you c**t” and “open this door you f****r”, I was horrified when he turned back to the door and started headbutting the glass. Over and again, he slammed his head violently into the glass and I heard it breaking further. Then he staggered back from the door and turned so I could see him face on. He was covered in blood, he had smashed in the glass pane in the door, there was broken glass all over the floor, and blood splattered up the door and walls of the porch.

Deeply shocked, I wondered what I should do as the man stumbled into the road and then disappeared from view. A second later I heard more breaking glass.

I knew it wasn’t my door or window and I could see it wasn’t my immediate neighbour. I realised he must be attacking the home of the elderly couple who lived two doors down. Very concerned for their wellbeing, I ran out of my house and down the road to their driveway. Maybe this was a stupid thing to do – I’ve been told it was – but in the heat of the moment, all I could think about was him attacking my neighbours. I wanted to make sure they were okay.

I stood at the bottom of the driveway and looked at their house. A big smear of blood was on their front window where he’d headbutted it. The man was standing at the door, hands again braced on either side of it, headbutting the glass violently. Glass was shattering and falling onto the floor. Again, he was shouting and swearing, calling them names, demanding that they come out and face him. That he knew it was them that had reported him.

To my horror, I saw the door open and realised one of my neighbours was there. Desperate to draw his attention away from them, I started yelling at him. “You’ve got the wrong house; you’ve got the wrong house! An elderly couple lives there. Leave them alone. They’ve done nothing to you.”

He ignored me and was shouting and threatening the person in the doorway.

I shouted louder and waved my arms. He turned towards me and staggered down the driveway to stop about three feet away from me. He was a mess. His forehead looked like chopped liver, blood was pouring down his face, and his mouth was full of blood. His clothing was splattered with blood, and it was gushing from his hands and arms.

He was yelling nonsense at me. Asking if it was me who reported him. I said I didn’t know who he was, so why would I? I kept saying he was in the wrong place, that no one on the road had hurt him, he was in the wrong place.

Then I looked into his eyes and saw the madness in there. I realised he wasn’t just drunk, that he was probably drugged up as well. I knew there would be no reasoning with him. He lurched towards me. I suddenly stopped being afraid for my neighbours and became afraid for myself.

I ran. Back into my house. I slammed the door and closed my front window, then phoned 999. I asked for the police, but the controller told me all the lines were busy. WTF?! I told him there was a blood-soaked man on the road who had already smashed in the doors of two properties, that he was not in control and was dangerous. The controller kept trying to get me through to the police, but all their lines were busy.

By this time, Franki had emerged from their room alarmed by the shouting and ran downstairs. Having the foresight to begin filming the man on their phone, we watched as he lurched about on the road. To my horror, other neighbours were coming out of their houses and approaching him.

Quickly, we ran upstairs, and I leaned out of my bedroom window and shouted at them to get back, that he was drunk and on drugs, that he’d already smashed the doors on two properties and was dangerous.

Luckily, they moved back. The controller was still trying to get through to the police when we heard sirens and a police car roared into the road. I told the controller that the police were there, so I didn’t need to be connected and hung up. The police stopped in front of the man. To our disbelief, he launched himself at the car and left bloody handprints all over the bonnet and up their windscreen.

The two male police officers tried to restrain him, but he fought them off. They wrestled him to the ground with blood spurting everywhere. One officer tried to pepper spray him, but it somehow bounced off the struggling man and hit the other police officer in the face. Rendered blind, he still tried to help hold the violently flailing man down. A young man passing by sat on the assailant’s legs until the officers managed to cuff him.

Franki videoed the whole thing. They were inches away from my car so on the video you can hear me plaintively squeaking to please mind my new car.

Once the man was restrained, we went downstairs and back out onto the street. The officer asked if we’d seen what happened. When I said I’d witnessed the whole thing, he told me that I’d have to give a statement. They wrenched the man to his feet.

“I haven’t done anything,” he kept insisting.

“Look at that door,” I cried, and pointed to the smashed window, all the glass and blood everywhere. “You also smashed in the door of a terrified elderly couple.”

“It wasn’t me,” he said. As they shoved him into the back of the police car he called me a c**t.

Lovely.

More police officers turned up to take statements and it was then I found out who he was. Regular readers will remember the problems we’ve had with a man who used to live in the horrible block of flats opposite. How one night I was awoken to the sound of him dragging a knife along the gate railings and asking us to “come out to play”. All the noise and disturbances when he and his girlfriend had epic fights in the street. The day I came home from work and couldn’t get into my road because he had thrown all his furniture off his balcony – including a washing machine, a TV, and a gaming chair. He has been relocated elsewhere but his girlfriend still lives in the flats. There is a restraining order and a community order against him. He is not allowed within a mile of the road. But blind drunk and high on drugs, he decided to ignore that and visit us. Convinced someone on the road had reported him to the police, he went on a vengeance fest.

The police have him in custody, for now. He will be charged with criminal damage, violence, anti-social behaviour, and resisting arrest, but I doubt he’ll be locked away. No, he’ll be given a smack on the wrist and set free. No one will do anything.

What does he have to do? We all asked the police officers. What does he have to do before anything is done about him?

I fear the answer is murder. Nothing will be done about him until he has seriously hurt or even killed someone, and then everyone will wring their hands and cry how awful, and fingers of blame will be pointed. Something needs to be done about it now before the unthinkable happens.

The policeman who’d received a face full of mace came into our house and took our statements. It took forever because he had to write it all out longhand and went over every tiny detail. I made the poor man a cup of tea, after all, he had been pepper sprayed. He also told us it was only his second week on the job, that he’d transferred here from London thinking Suffolk would be quieter and calmer.

Really?

How’s that working out for you?

We didn’t get dinner until gone eight. We were starving and wrung out. The plans I’d made to make a spaghetti bolognese were put on hold until tonight and we shoved an oven pizza and fries in. I opened a bottle of wine. After what had happened, I felt I deserved it. I worried it might stop me from sleeping, but a week of insomnia plus the come down from adrenalin meant I fell into bed at eleven and knew nothing until seven.

So, what happens now? I honestly don’t know. I’m not scared of this man, but I am concerned. He could come back at any time. At the very least, he could damage our homes or our cars, at the very worst he could damage one of us.

Franki has taken it hard. Now afraid of being alone in the house, I know the days of them being happy to have doors and windows open during the day because it’s so hot are over – especially if I’m not here. At their request, a bolt has been fitted to their bedroom door to make them feel more secure. I have reassured them that he will be in custody until a court date can be arranged. In all likelihood, he won’t be out until after they have returned to university.

And that is what happened.

I can’t believe that one person can have such an impact on the lives of so many people. It’s unfair. He broke both a restraining order and a community order, so that will go against him. He damaged property, disturbed the peace, exhibited violent and threatening behaviour, and assaulted two police officers whilst resisting arrest. How long will he go to prison for, if indeed he does go, I have no idea? We can only wait and see, and I will, of course, keep you posted.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s almost 5:30 and I am going to make myself a gin and tonic and gather with my neighbours in the street for our weekly get-together. Like survivors of a disaster, I guess the conversation will be about what’s happened as we try to make sense of it. I do live in an amazing street. After it happened yesterday, everyone who was home was out sweeping up glass and washing away blood off property and cars. A casserole was produced from somewhere for the elderly couple to have for dinner. Lots of hugs were given and received as we all mucked in to clean up the mess. We can’t let one evil individual spoil that. We won’t.

Have a wonderful couple of weeks my friends, and I will speak to you soon.

All the best.

Julia Blake

This may be a short blog because honestly, I have so much to do today that my head is spinning! What has happened since we last chatted? Well, where do I begin? Firstly, the pension money finally arrived – although H.M. Revenue & Customs have taken a massive chunk of it in taxes. My financial advisor has applied for me to get some of that back, but that might take a long time, so I’ve put it out of my mind and focused on what I do have.

The boiler is booked to be installed on the 25^th and 26^th of August. We already know they will need to cause a big mess in the basement because an old and now illegal lead pipe leads out of my gas meter and connects to the main inlet pipe. This must be changed. Unfortunately, it goes under part of the ceiling which will have to come down to access the pipe. Luckily it’s only a tiny part of the ceiling across the entrance way to the basement proper. The boiler fitters will be handling that, and it’s all included in the quote. But, as I said, it’s going to cause a big mess.

Mx R is returning to Wales on the 23^rd of August and won’t be coming back. As soon as they have left, we will move Franki and all their belongings back up to their old room and they probably won’t be moving back down again until the next time they’re on holiday from university.

The reasons for this are obviously because of the building work going on, but also because once that is done we are going to completely redecorate the basement to get it ready to be let as an Airbnb. This will involve a massive amount of work. My brother has been and completed all the electrical work that needed to be done, including ripping down now defunct wires such as TV aerial, Sky dish connections etc. All things that are no longer necessary with Smart TVs. This has left slight damage to the walls so I will need to fill and sand down all holes etc. All the woodwork which is currently painted a dark chocolate brown will need to be rubbed down, undercoated, and then repainted in a soft grey. The ceiling needs a fresh coat of paint – and this time I’m going to use the special Dulux ceiling paint that goes on pink and dries up white! All the walls need painting. I have two grey wooden floating shelves to fit, the old purple velvet curtain is coming down and grey wooden slatted blinds are being fitted. Cool contemporary is the look we’re going for.

As you can imagine, trying to fit all that work in around my job (and bearing in mind I’m still working an extra day a week) will be difficult. Franki is going to help me as much as they can so hopefully many hands will make light work.

It was quite funny when my brother came to do the electrical work. I now have smart new lights in the bathroom plus a new pull cord (mine had been broken for years). He replaced dodgy light switches in the dining room and office. Removed defunct cables in the basement and had to figure out a way to earth the electric meter to the gas meter. Imagine the basement room as a box, with the gas meter in a cupboard in one corner, then diagonally opposite in the other corner is another cupboard with the electric meter. He had to try and get cabling from cupboard to cupboard. Of course, he could have dug into the wall and buried the cable. But that would have taken time, been incredibly messy, and very expensive, and I would need to find a plasterer to make good afterwards. It was decided that neat white plastic trunking running around the top of the wall from cupboard to cupboard would be the most practical solution. The only trouble was a large wardrobe was in the way. As the ceiling at that point in the basement is quite low, it left barely any space for him to manoeuvre above it.

I sat upstairs hearing much cussing and thumping coming from below my feet. Then an idea struck, and I went down to see him.

Just a thought, but if you took the cable out of the other side of the electric cupboard, tucked it neatly over the window and then ran it along the lip where the ceiling dips, it would be barely noticeable and would take you straight to the gas cupboard. Wouldn’t that be easier?

He stopped. He glared at me. Sweat was dripping from his brow. I looked up and saw he’d managed to get the trunking up over the wardrobe and was about the turn the corner and begin the run down the long wall to the gas cupboard. He looked at the solution I had suggested, and his face turned thunderous.

Yes, he ground out. I wish you’d thought of that earlier.

Oops, sorry.

Whilst he was in the electric cupboard, he was horrified to discover the age and condition of my fuse board. Old enough to be the one Noah used on the Ark, he condemned it as unsafe and told me it had to be replaced. Another £400. Gulp. But, it had to be done, so I told him to go ahead and make us safe.

In consultation with my appliance repair man, Rob, we chose a new dishwasher and ordered it from a local supplier. It’s being delivered this morning, but Rob can’t come until Monday morning to fit it, so I’ve had to try and clear some space in the dining room for it to stand in until then. Update: it’s just been delivered so is all ready to be installed on Monday!

I know what you’re all curious to know is how is the car situation going. Well, I’m still taking the bus, but hopefully, yesterday was the last day I needed to. Franki and I, plus a couple of friends, have been searching second-hand car sites trying to find a vehicle within my budget that suited my specifications. It didn’t prove easy. It turned out we’ve living in a desert as far as decent second-hand cars are concerned. I don’t know if everyone else has decided to buy them rather than spend all that money on new ones, but there was seriously nothing. We had to keep expanding the area we were searching in and looking at dealers that offered home delivery. It would add to the price, but I didn’t have much choice. What with Franki’s return to university looming on the horizon, I had to get a car sooner rather than later. Plus, I was sick of relying on public transport. The bus to work wasn’t the issue, it was the one home. Unreliable, and always late, at the end of a long day on my feet at work, the last thing I wanted was to sit for ages at a smelly bus stop, then sit on a sweaty bus for forty minutes going on scenic routes of the local housing estate. An hour-long journey on the bus to make a ten-minute car journey home is a joke that soon wears thin. And, of course, there are no buses on a Sunday, so I must walk home. Again, a fifty-minute walk at the end of a long day in the kind of heat we are experiencing is not fun.

Anyway, we found a red Ford Fiesta on Auto Trader that I kept coming back to. Something about it gave me a good feeling in my gut. At £2680 it was the top end of my budget, but it ticked all the right boxes. It was a hatchback, an automatic, good clean service record, six months MOT, a warranty, only 48,000 miles on the clock, air conditioning, parking assist, etc. We contacted the dealer, a very pleasant-sounding man called Alfie. He did a live video tour of the car for me so I could see inside and hear the engine. I will certainly be channelling my inner boy racer with this car – it has bright red seats and a matching dashboard.

Many phone calls were made with Alfie and the upshot is I am in the process of buying it, sight unseen, understanding that I am protected by distance buying laws. However, my instincts are telling me both Alfie and the car are sound. All being well, Alfie will be delivering the car early Monday evening. As my next shift isn’t until Tuesday that should mean my bus travelling days are over. I will keep you posted.

We had put my old, tiny TV down in the basement for Franki to use, but it’s so small they had to stand it on a bedside cabinet to see it, which wasn’t practical. Plus, it’s not a Smart TV so we had to buy a Now stick to make it one and it was a little problematic. If I wanted to run a top-level Airbnb and be able to charge premium rates, I would need to provide a decent TV. I thought about it. Our TV although about five years old was still a lovely 28” Smart TV and would be perfectly adequate in the basement. So, without stopping to think about it, I bought us a Samsung 32” and the old one was relocated to the basement – much to the delight of Franki. The little 19” old one I have put in storage because I may be able to use it in the dining room.

I need a plumber to replace my old 1950s shabby bathroom suite. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a plumber? They are mythical creatures, like the Yeti. You’ve heard of people claiming they’ve seen them, but you’re not sure whether to believe them or not. I followed up on a few leads, but they were all dead ends. Either the plumber was no longer self-employed, he was too busy to even quote for jobs this year, or simply didn’t answer his phone.

In the end, in sheer desperation Friday morning, I googled how do I find a good local plumber? The first option that came up was to register with something called Bark.com which would search for accredited tradesmen local to you. You simply entered your postcode and your requirements, and the website did the rest. Within minutes it had offered me five options. I requested quotes from all of them, and twenty minutes later Daniel from First Fix phoned me back. He asked for more details, got me to send him several pictures of the bathroom, and said he would get back to me. He then called again in the evening and arranged to come round this afternoon to measure up, look at the bathroom and chat about my requirements. He is so far the only plumber to respond, so I hope his quote is reasonable. His reviews are all good, so that’s reassuring.

It’s Franki’s birthday tomorrow, they are out for the day with Mx R as I originally was going to be working, but now I’m not, so I’m having a table at the Makers Market in the Market Cross instead. It was very last minute, but because I had the money I had taken the opportunity to stock up with all my books, buy a mini folding sack barrow, and mini clamps to hold the tablecloth on the table. All that needs to be done today is to laminate the blurbs of all the Blackwood Family Saga, The Perennials Trilogy, The Book of Eve, and Eclairs for Tea. We also need to make price labels for them. Franki has said they will help me with those later today.

Update: The car has been paid for and I actually feel physically sick at how much money I’ve spent.

The plumber has texted that he’ll be here in two hours.

Anyway, back to Franki’s birthday. As I didn’t give them a great present for their eighteenth last year because I was broke, I decided to make up for it this year and gave them £300 to do what they please with. I also wanted to buy them a little something to unwrap on the day. After all, a birthday doesn’t feel like a birthday without presents. Franki is obsessed with Star Trek – not the original series with Kirk, she finds that a bit creaky and misogynistic – but the Next Generation onwards, Picard etc. I found on Amazon a fabulous Star Fleet Academy hoodie and bought it, then Amazon informed me it wouldn’t be delivered until the 19^th – five days after her birthday – so they still wouldn’t have something to unwrap on their birthday. I popped to Wilks when I got off the bus on Thursday evening and bought some pretty stationery and pens to stand in for the “something to unwrap” present on her birthday. Only to get home and find the hoodie had been delivered after all.

As I’m off to the Makers Market probably earlier than Franki and Mx R will be up tomorrow, it’s been decided that I’ll give Franki their presents from me this evening. I’m cooking a steak dinner with all the trimmings, which we’re having early because Franki’s godmother is coming round at 7:30 to see them. There is also a big fat chocolate birthday cake for this evening plus pink Prosecco. As soon as I’ve finished chatting with you, I must go and wrap presents and write in Franki’s card, otherwise, time will get away from me. I think Mx R needs paper as well.

Monday is also shaping up to be a very busy day. My appliance repair man, Rob, is coming first thing to install the new dishwasher. It will be nice to have one that actually washes the dishes, instead of giving them a lick and a promise, and one that doesn’t pee brown liquid all over the kitchen floor every time I use it.

In the afternoon, someone from Tapei Carpets is coming to measure up the dining room carpet and the hall, stairs, and landing. The hall, stairs, and landing carpet was fitted in 1996 and is dangerously worn over the stair nosings. You can also feel that the underlay has crumbled away to dust and it’s just floorboards underneath now.

The dining room carpet was fitted in 1999, but as it’s a through route it is worn as well, plus moths have eaten big holes in it. Apparently, modern carpets are all moth-proof! Fancy that.

I was going to hire professionals to do all the decorating but seeing how the money is slipping away and wishing to economise where possible, I have decided to decorate the dining room myself. I’m a good painter, I’m perfectly capable of doing it but am inwardly groaning at the thought of how long it will take me. Trying to fit anything around work and overtime right now is a struggle. Plus, my energy levels are not what they used to be. But it will save me hundreds.

The hall, stairs, and landing are a different matter. I can remove the carpet and much of the old wallpaper, I can even sand down the woodwork and stain it. I could even paint the hall ceiling and the walls. I can do some of the landing walls. But – my ceiling goes up ten feet over the stairwell. Not only is it impossible for me to reach it, but it’s too dangerous for me to even attempt. If I fell I could seriously hurt myself. I am the only captain of this ship; I cannot afford to be out of action. So, I will have to get professionals to do that.

Finally, Alfie will be delivering my new car early Monday evening. It will be nice to be able to drive to work on Tuesday. Can’t wait to see my colleagues’ faces when I rock up in my cherry red boy racer mobile.

The university has changed the date when Franki can move back in. The original date was Saturday the 17^th. This was the only day available. The original plan was that Franki was going to travel to Chester by train on the 13^th. Mx R is moving into their accommodation for their second year in the centre of Chester, so Franki was going to stay with them for a few days and help them settle in. I was then going to drive up alone on the 17^th with the rest of Franki’s belongings and the demon hamster.

I was never keen on this plan.

It involved me making the drive alone. As I’ve never been to Mx R’s new house I would be trying to find it. It would also mean leaving me along with that hamster for several days, plus I would have to transport it by myself. Not an attractive proposition.

Anyway, the university is now saying that Franki can move in first thing in the morning on Thursday the 15^th. Long hard thinking occurred, and Franki reluctantly concluded there was no point travelling all that way on the train for just two days with Mx R. That Franki might as well wait and then travel up with me. As their move-in slot is 9:30 on Thursday, we thought it best to travel up the night before and a delightful Airbnb room has been booked for me five minutes away from Mx R’s new home. Goodness, it was like trying to book a room at the Ritz. Because this host is what’s known as a super host, she can pick and choose whom she lets the room to. We had to supply ID and everything before she let me have the room. But it’s booked, so Franki and I will drive up early in the afternoon of Wednesday the 14^th. On the way, we will swing by the storage locker and put as many boxes of Franki’s kitchen stuff in the car as we can fit in.

Franki and the hamster will stay at Mx R’s house that night, although I will take us all out to dinner. By having some of Franki’s kitchen stuff already in the car, we can get to the university bang on 9:30 so Franki can stake their claim on the premium cupboards in the kitchen. It’s first come, first served, and apparently there are desirable cupboards and some that are not so. Whilst Franki is playing with her cutlery and crockery, Mx R’s and I will head back to the storage locker and cram as much as we can into the car. Hopefully, because my car is bigger than Charlie’s little KA is, we won’t need to do so many trips. I’ll help get Franki settled as much as I can, before heading for home.

And then the summer will officially be over, and things will settle down to normal.

I must admit, I will be relieved not to be living at 100 miles an hour. The new part-timer has started at work and once she is up to speed, my hours will go back to three days a week, which will be wonderful. I am still trying to cram as much, if not more, into only three days a week off as I was into four.

Of course, the next focus for me now as the car and dishwasher problems have been addressed, the new boiler will soon be fitted, and hopefully, a plumber has been sorted, will be getting the house ready to register for Airbnb.

But that’s a problem for a different day.

Goodness, look at that word count. I said this would be a short blog and then rambled on for over 3300 words. I need to go. The plumber will be here soon, and I want to quickly clean the bathroom.

Take care of yourselves and I look forward to chatting with you all in another two weeks.

Julia Blake

The last time we spoke, it was the day before my birthday and the day before St. Albans Comic-Con. So, how did they go? Well, my birthday was kind of a non-event this year, but St. Albans went well. I was up at 5:30 and was waiting at the bottom of the road for Mary to pick me up at 6:30. Mary drives a Lotus Elise so I didn’t think the neighbours would appreciate it growling up our road at silly o’clock on a Sunday morning. I waited and waited. By 6:50 I was beginning to worry when I heard a high-performance engine and Mary roared up.

At that hour on a Sunday morning, the roads were reasonably clear, so it didn’t take us long to get there, park, phone Rachel and for them to come and find us with our wristbands to indicate we were paid up stallholders.

We had two tables together shared between the three of us so divided the space into thirds and laid out our goods. Mary is a comedic sci-fi writer – think Douglas Adams or Terry Pratchett – so she went one end. Rachel with her dystopian near future Battleground series went in the middle. I went on the other end.

We were ready in good time and nervously awaited the opening of the doors. We had no idea how this was going to go down. It was already hot, really hot, and there was no AC at all in the venue. At first, things were sluggish. A few people looked at our stall and spoke to us about our books, but they were very much just browsing at that stage and most wandered off promising to be back. Hmm, as a sales consultant I’ve heard that line way too often before.

By midday, though the crowd had thickened, and we began to sell. Not crazy amounts, but slow and steady, with time to chat to our new readers which was nice. The people ebbed and flowed. It got hotter. We were sticky and I was glad I’d brought an old towel to lay on the floor because it meant I could take my shoes off, and splash water on my ankles and feet and try to cool down a little.

There was a cosplay event taking place somewhere in the venue and some of the costumes were amazing, although I did feel sorry for those hardy souls dressed as stormtroopers, Darth Vader, Deadpool etc. In their tight, all-encompassing outfits with helmets or masks, they must have been sweltering.

We continued to sell. By mid-afternoon I’d sold all ten copies of Black Ice that I’d taken, so rearranged my stall and continued with just Erinsmore, The Forest and Lifesong. Approaching 4:00 it was clear the day was done. The event was due to close at 4:30 and we weren’t seeing any new faces in the crowd, just people who’d already visited our stall and were having one last look around. We began to pack up. I’d taken ten copies each of Black Ice, The Forest, and Erinsmore, and thirty-five of Lifesong. I sold all the copies of Black Ice, eight copies of The Forest, seven copies of Erinsmore, and twelve copies of Lifesong. So, not bad. We also spoke to a lot of people, handed out cards and flyers, connected with potential new readers and I know I gained a few new followers on social media. We all felt the day had been a success and that we’d consider doing it again.

We packed away our stall and took everything out to the cars. Most of our stuff had to go in Rachel’s car – a Lotus Elise doesn’t have much space for anything. I scrambled back into Mary’s car, and we headed for home.

Although it didn’t take long, about an hour and thirty minutes, by the time she dropped me off at the end of my road I was tired, sticky, and grubby. I needed to pee, shower, drink, and eat – in that order! There was a rack of ribs in the fridge, so whilst I attended to my needs, Franki did us BBQ rib and fries which was just what the doctor ordered.

Whilst I’d been at St. Albans, the lodger had moved out, so after dinner, we went down into the basement to check it out. Surprisingly, he’d done a reasonably good job of cleaning, so it wasn’t going to take long to turn the room around for Franki to move in.

Monday dawned, and the worst of the heatwave struck. It was over 40 degrees centigrade outside, so we stayed in. I know some people recommend keeping all windows and curtains closed in a heatwave but that wouldn’t work in my house – we’d swelter. It’s a Victorian house so it’s very well insulated and having all the doors and windows wide open meant a breeze blew through the house, so it was reasonably cool indoors. We spent most of the day freshening up the basement and moving Franki’s essentials down so they could at least sleep in it that night. Franki’s old room is narrow and small and in the centre of the house. Hot air rises so the bedrooms are always unpleasantly warm, their old room especially. At least the basement would be wonderfully cool for them. I was a bit jealous. Although my larger room with its two windows didn’t overheat as much as Franki’s old room, it still retained the heat and Monday night, and Tuesday night were unbearable. I lay starfished in the middle of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of knickers and a layer of sweat. A fan stood by the bed and ran all night continuously wafting cold air over me.

It was still like sleeping in an active volcano. Every time I tried to roll over I left a puddle of sweat behind me. Needless to say, not much sleeping went on.

Tuesday I lay on the sofa in the dining room for much of the day with the fan playing over me whilst Franki got the new room to their liking. She informed me smugly, she had felt chilly enough during the night to need the duvet over her. If it hadn’t been so hot I might have thumped her for that.

The rest of my week off passed by in a bit of a blur. Even though the temperature dropped slightly it was still unbelievably hot, so I didn’t feel like doing much. I made a start on writing book fifteen but only managed 5500 words – not the high word count I had expected to manage during two weeks off work. I was tired and didn’t feel like doing anything other than lying around reading.

On Friday Franki and I went for lunch at Pizza Express courtesy of Tesco vouchers donated by Mum, and Franki paid the excess as a late birthday lunch. It was nice. I can’t remember the last time we went out just the two of us, so it was pleasant.

There was the usual Happy Hour drink with the neighbours in the street, then I chilled out in the evening and had an early night.

I was very aware I only had three days left of my holiday and I didn’t want to waste it, but the motivation was sadly lacking to do anything. I half-heartedly wrote another 1000 words on the book, then left it. I caught up with laundry and housework and did a little gardening, but it was still too hot to want to do anything much.

Sunday afternoon we were invited to a barbecue with fellow author Rachel Churcher and her husband. It was a gorgeous afternoon and we had fun – although I will be avoiding Long Island Iced Tea cocktails in future – it’s not tea and is lethal.

Monday was mostly spent recovering from the said cocktail.

Tuesday I went back to work. It was hard going back, lack of sleep over several nights due to the heat had left me exhausted and out of sorts. My shift was 9:30 to 5, but luckily I discovered a 5:10 bus that is supposed to get me into town at 5:22. The bus didn’t arrive until 5:20 so I was late getting home, but it was better than walking.

Wednesday was work again, a weird 11-5 shift. I was attending a fellow local author’s launch party in town that evening and was supposed to be there by 6:15. This caused an issue. Yes, I could have tried to catch the bus but if it was late again – I’ve discovered buses are late more often than they are on time – then it wasn’t going to leave me much time to eat, get changed, and walk to the venue. Luckily, the lovely Rachel Churcher offered me a lift, so I was home by 5:10 and able to quickly change whilst Franki cooked spaghetti and heated the mince mix I’d made on Monday ready. We were in the venue and set up before anyone else arrived.

It was a lovely evening. There were five local authors of different genres. There was a Q&A session, each author did a short reading from one of their books – I chose the first page of Black Ice – and then the audience was invited to ask us questions.

Turnout wasn’t as high as we had hoped, but enough came to make a respectable-sized audience and they all seemed to enjoy it. We didn’t sell many books, only a couple each, but again we gave out cards and talked to potential readers.

Thursday I was back to work again, a 10:30 to 6:00 shift. This meant no bus home. Well, that’s not strictly true, there is a 6:12 bus but I’ve caught it before and know what the deal is now. You wait for the bus. It eventually turns up. It takes you for a thirty-minute scenic tour of the massive residential estate nearby. It comes back to the original bus stop you got on at, before finally heading into town to drop you off at 7:02. I decided it was quicker to walk.

I left at 6:00 and started walking. Luckily, the weather had cooled down so at least I wasn’t dying of heatstroke. I met a lovely doggy with his owner, so of course, I had to stop and fuss him and have a nice little chat with her. Walking through town, I bumped into an old friend I hadn’t seen in over ten years. We had a chat. I walked past Waitrose. My stomach rumbled. I wondered whether Franki had done anything for dinner. Probably not as I hadn’t asked her to.

I wandered about Waitrose. I fancied pizza so picked up a goat’s cheese and caramelized red onion one, with a bucket of cooked buffalo wings, a garlic dip for Franki and a pot of proper mayo for me. My tastebuds still aren’t right after Covid and things like garlic taste disgusting to me. Ooh, Waitrose still had the offer running on vegan Ben & Jerry’s ice cream – two tubs for £6 – so I grabbed a tub of cookie dough and one of berry and chocolate explosion. I remembered we needed bin bags.

Leaving Waitrose and crossing over into the Arc shopping centre a car pulled up beside me and a very confused looked elderly lady leaned out the window. She was lost, looking for the Apex car park. I gave directions, we chatted, and then she drove off and I continued home. I walked in the door at 7:02 precisely. By some telepathy, Franki had the oven warmed up ready for whatever I had decided to cook and was delighted to see the pizza. Leaving her to cook dinner, I got changed and opened a bottle of wine – well, it was my Friday evening, and I was very pleased to be home and even more pleased to be able to relax with a glass of wine, pizza, buffalo wings, and Netflix.

I didn’t sleep very well though. The street was noisy, and I kept waking up, so Friday morning I was grumpy and had a headache. I had a lot of phone calls to make and emails to respond to, so I tried to pull myself together and clear the decks.

Friday afternoon it was my local authors’ get-together and for once we were meeting in real life, not on Zoom, so I wandered down to the cathedral café where we sat in the garden, drank coffee, ate cake, and chatted about life, and all things bookish.

Again, it was Happy Hour in the street with the neighbours, but it was a short one this time as everyone except me and another neighbour had other things to rush off to. I invited her to come round and sit in the garden and finish our drinks. She seemed okay when we sat down, but ten minutes later it was clear she was very much not okay. I have honestly never seen anyone go from sober to falling down drunk so quickly! I tactfully suggested we needed to get her home, so helped her into the house where she collapsed onto the sofa, and I realised I’d need help. I bellowed for Franki who ran upstairs and assessed the situation at once. Together, we heaved the poor lady up and half-carried, half-dragged her three doors up the street to her house where we found her front door had been left wide open as well as all her windows and the back door – making me wonder what state she’d been in when she left the house! We left her to go to bed, and I hope she’s okay today and if she remembers much of the evening, doesn’t feel too embarrassed. It happens. Heck, it’s happened to me. You think you’re fine, then you have one more drink which proves the straw that broke the camel’s back.

And now it’s Saturday again, although as I’m back to work tomorrow it feels like my Sunday. This morning, Franki and I lay on the sofa and made TikTok videos for my new account. That was so funny. Last summer, Franki set me up a TikTok account and posted one video promising to teach me how to use it. They never got round to it, and I forgot my password and couldn’t remember what to do with TikTok anyway so didn’t bother. Anyway, last week Franki asked about TikTok, and I confessed I hadn’t touched it in over a year. Annoyed, they reset my password and went to my account, exclaiming that I wouldn’t have any followers because you can’t just drop one video and then bugger off for the year, TikTok didn’t work that way.

I had over 900 followers. Don’t ask me how, but there they were.

So, Franki has been making a stockpile of cool videos and this time has promised to teach me how to TikTok before they return to university. I need to expand onto other social media platforms. Instagram is a lovely place to connect with other authors and form a supportive network but it’s not very good for book sales. I know several authors who have branched out into TikTok and even Twitter and are doing very well with it. I know I need to try and so far TikTok isn’t too bad. It’s confusing and noisy and I don’t understand the whys and the what’s, but I can see the results. Greater reach, greater engagement, and more chance of getting the word out about my books.

Today is going to be a relaxing day. I feel I’m in danger of burn-out so need to take better care of myself and schedule resting and recharging my batteries. I’m not 25 anymore, I’m 55, and my body can’t keep going the way it used to.

Have a great weekend everyone! Mx R is coming back on Monday from their visit with their family, so it will be back to veggie cooking. So, tonight’s dinner is southern fried chicken! And no doubt tomorrow’s dinner will be meat-based as well.

See you in two weeks.

Julia Blake