22

I feel like I have a lot to do. But, in reality, what do I actually have to do?

Write a short story by the 25th – ish. That’s Sunday; realistically, Monday.

Go to see the Dalai Lama – or bottle it. That’s on Sunday too.

Figure out about Tom and his sailing gig. Doesn’t look like he’ll be going till Tuesday, which would mean arriving there on Thursday/Friday, which would mean getting back Saturday/Sunday. That would mean holidays and missing Keith’s visit. That would be pushing it a bit.

Organise these trips to Spain. Considering going solo to Valladolid on around the 4th, to see the Sad Hill Cemetery, and then on around the 16th to Murcia for a week with Perlilly. Would have liked to have organised a Visa Electron card, but not much chance of that. And would only mean saving £12. Need to get some sort of okay on holidays with Keith. Such a pain that I can’t even take guilt- and stress-free holidays!

Think about writing the book. Thought about it – probably not much point until I get some sort of reason to do it, some interest from an agent. Should perhaps try and get some interest from an agent.

Perlilly? Perlilly’s nice. Have to help her move at the end of June. Probably have to make an effort to spend some time with myself, and with my things, since she’s not doing owt and would probably want to spend all her time with me. I could quite easily give in to that. Shouldn’t. Have to get these stories done!

Stories: the murder one; the hitch-hiking one; the re-hash of ‘Thirteen’ (not desperate). Nothing much else in the pipeline. But two’s okay for now.

So…

1. Holidays
2. Oxfam stuff
3. Tom
4. Stories
5. Dalai Lama
6. Visa Electron
7. More book stuff

There! Not too bad at all! :-)

may not...

I was thinking last week that my blog – and, therefore, my life – has become perhaps a bit too relationship-centric; I seem to have lost something of myself, that I used to have when I started this, and when people read it and loved it. I thought and I realised: it was adventures; I used to do silly little things, and I dug that. This was probably last summer. Well, the winter's been long, but sunny days are here again, and it's probably time to get back to adventuring…
       But like these first sunny days, it's a tentative step back to life, and the outdoors, and the energy of blossoms and flower-openings and blooms: the hibernating bear awakens slowly. So for my first week it was small adventures I sought. On Wednesday I found one.
       I was rushing for the train – as I always am; it's apparently the only way I know how to catch one – and had about thirty seconds to reach the platform. I made good time sprinting through the concourse after buying my ticket, weaving in and out of women in suits, but saw to my dismay an almighty queue of people waiting to get through the ticket barrier and I knew instantly that I would never make it. So, without halting my charge, I ploughed on, took a sharp veer to the left, and heroically hurdled the not-insubstantial locked gate at an unused checkpoint. A quick u-turn along platform eight and I'm feeling good. A shout behind me, though: a railway official in hot pursuit. I wave my tickets in the air and shout something about having to catch my train. Ahead of me another official takes in the scene – I swear, I see his brain-cogs working as his mind starts to piece together the information that will lead him to the inevitable conclusion: "I should stop this guy." I speed up and am past him before he reaches it, though. Up the stairs, then, around the corner and out of sight – removing my jacket, for disguise – and bursting through a bustle of commuters, who I hope are providing me with camouflage, losing my pursuer. Down the stairs, onto 12D, and into my waiting train, breathing heavily and hunched down into a newspaper, and willing the doors to close before the group of be-hatted conductors and ticket-men and guards come a-searchin'. But blessed beeping sounds and doors slide shut and I'm on my way. Adrenaline. Happiness. Adventure. I've done something naughty, and run away from a man in a uniform, and leapt a barrier, and made my escape. It's brilliant.
       I also drank a glass of wine this week, and ate some chicken. First time I've done either in about three years.
       Rory Miller is a man. Oh yes.