The drive belt on the washing machine broke on Saturday lunchtime, just after the shops shut for the weekend. This left me with a load of washing to rinse by hand, which was rather a pain.

Yesterday was nice.

The clocks went back on Saturday night, but I just slept later and missed an hour of day rather than an hour of sleep.

After a solid month of writing only non-fiction, I decided to treat myself. I absolutely didn’t have time, but I wrote some fluff about a secret agent doing James Bond-type stuff, only he’s a hamster. Deathless art it ain’t, but it was fun to write. And I felt much better afterwards: something like having your first shower for three days. I need fiction to stay sane.

Or what approximately passes for sane.

But this morning the hour change really hit me. Lucky me, I could go back to bed. And now I’m catching up on little jobs, plus one not-so-little one. I really must write the promised review of “Interspex”.

Posted by sheila

Sheila came to La Palma with a six month contract and has stayed 24 years so far. She used to work as a software engineer at the observatory, but now she's a writer and Starlight guide.

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