The Writer goes back to his roots...

Well-
The Writer spoke to his agent a few days ago. Nothing is moving in the publishing world. Apparently.
So Arthur and Will are having a bit of a holiday.
But- some rather promising news looms large on the horizen.
Sy has a meeting with Hilary Salmon, a brilliant exec producer at the BBC in a weeks time- he sent her a couple of ideas and she likes them very much.
Seeing as part of her portfolio is the rather brilliant Desperate Romantics, 5 days and Criminal Justice, we have high hopes.
Script writing is what Sy does first and foremost- and he's relishing the prospect of getting back to what he loves...Fantastic!

A list....

Things i have done this Bank holiday weekend.

1-Spring cleaned our bedroom, and moved all the furniture. (Sy actually fell out of the bed the first night of the changeround...that's another story.)
2- Spring cleaned the bathroom
3- Spring cleaned the sitting room (even The Writers' desk...and i haven't even lost one scrap of paper on it, although i did manage to lose a couple of pages from a Very Important Book.
They'll turn up eventually, i'm sure.)
4- Spring cleaned the kitchen, sorted out all the old crockery and installed a new, fully matching, inherited set.) Sy and DD can't find anything anymore. But that's their problem. I like the new set-up.
5- Have done three trips to the tip, but have recycled four big boxes of stuff and seven binbags.
6- Have baked two loaves of bread, made two bannoffi pies and three chocolate cakes.
7-Have ferried DD to and from her boyfriends house three times (an hour and half round journey, each time.)
8. I know i've forgotton something....ohh yes, done another blog!

The Writer has.
1- Mown the lawn.
And broken the mower.
So why the hell is he preening around the house looking for praise, when that's the only job he has done - and ballsed it up- and yet i'm just getting on with stuff?
It's a man thing, isn't it.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx

Mwah, Mwah.

I was given an award for blogging today.

Somebody actually took the time to say that they liked my blog and that i deserved an award for it.

Bloody hell.



So, thankyou again, (Very) lost in France.

It really did make my day.



I told Sy about it.

'I've got an award for my blog.'

'Which bit?'

'All of it, i suppose..'



He doesn't look too thrilled. He say's he's really pleased, but i know different.

You see, there is one thing i left out out of one of my earlier posts-(Eating, drinking...some things i have found out about my writer..)

Don't ever think that you might be able to write too- Your writer will not be able to tolerate this.
There is no room in your house for two egos.

And i think i might be on the verge of breaking this cardinal rule.
Only difference is, i'm not doing this for money (actually, at this point in time, neither is Sy, so he shouldn't be moaning really.)
And, i don't really believe i can write (he knows he can.)
I write the way i talk (without the accent, obviously)- there is no reasoning to my ramblings and no proper grammer either. I talk at a hundred miles an hour, draw breath only when i feel dizzy and start to turn blue, and lose track of what i'm talking about very quickly.

It's people like me that create the nightmares of chatshow hosts and English teachers.

Sy's Writers Guild award takes pride of place on a shelf above the telly in the sitting room.
Now and again, when he's had too much scotch and there is particularly bad police drama on the box, he will trundle over to the shelf, pick up the award, look at it lovingly and tell the world (well, just me normally) about how crap telly is these days and that 'they don't make drama like they used to.'
But his language is a lot more colourful.
And he also reels off his 'hitlist'- but i can't name names at any of the corporations, for legal reasons.

I thought i might print off my little award and sit it next to Sy's.

But then he might think i'm getting ideas above my station. And we can't have that.
I'm now going to go back to the kitchen and carry on with the ironing.

I know my place.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx