This novel-break is an edgy business. A week in and I've already thought of enough flaws in the whole manuscript to send me straight to drink (damn pregnancy, thwarting my schemes), and I've found myself ricocheting at terrifying speed between (a) thinking of interesting, if ill-formed and vague, solutions to said problems, (b) despairing and admitting the futility of the entire venture in grand, miserable, wallowing-in-chocolate-until-I-feel-really-ill style, and (c) sticking my fingers in my ears and screaming LALALALALALA NOT LISTENING until the rest of my brain slinks away, deafened and disheartened.
I guess all this is normal.
On the other hand, I've caught up on about half my reviewing backlog and introduced a friend visiting from Belgium to the wonders of Manchester's Retro Rehab and Oklahoma, and (ahem) having your gait analysed by nice running-store men. Yeah, I'm that cool. We also got intensely trailed around the Vivienne Westwood shop by a sales assistant, but disappointed her by not stealing anything. Plus yesterday I finally caught up with Jenn Ashworth's appearance on the Culture Show - go, Jenn! Today I'm going to try to attach a wicker basket I found in the bin to the front of my bike with cable ties. So I'm not only cool, but classy, too. Go, me.
The world will be a safer pace when I get back to the novel.