We are In. Still surrounded by cardboard boxes & still recovering from the landlord checkout of the house. They sent a relative to do it, a sour Saudi woman who tried to pick holes in everything. It was extremely stressful. Have complained to the estate agents, broke down in tears actually merely remembering it all, which was embarrassing. However the flat is fantastic and the location incredible. Feels like I must have won the lottery or bagged a mega book deal. Beautiful windows and friendly neighbours. So far have met the professor and his boyfriend, the actor and the theatre director. The security guard (who sits in a little coach house thingy in front of our flat) has let us put our pushbikes in the underground carpark (£250,000 a shot for a parking space!). The Author was In Residence when we arrived but didn't see her.
I am writing this on my laptop in a caff! I have big mug of tea, a table with a plug next to me I'm not sure I'm allowed to use or not. This is my second attempt. Yesterday I went to Starbucks and couldn't log on, didn't realise you had to buy a password voucher. Today I'm in a little caff that has an 'Internet Connection' sign on the door and a friendly man who grills bacon and brings me tea. I'm supposed to be writing. First day of rewriting day. The first novel writing session since early summer. I'm not in the flat because the flat is in Kensington, and daughter's school is in Twickenham, as is this caff. There's no point in going back in heavy traffic, no point in going back most days. Eventually she'll be able to do a bus/tube/bus run, but to start off this is how it'll be, soon I'll go to a friend's house nearby and walk their dog and write some more. More? Starting is scary.
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.