It was a bitterly cold weekend – all the bold little crocuses that had come through six weeks early have been felled by the frost, and the nuts in my birdfeeder have begun to go down much faster than usual. I did my grocery shopping, and some cleaning, and some washing, and repotted a plant, on Saturday, and then on Sunday I closeted myself with tea and a chocolate-coated rice-crispie cake, and the radio, and wrote. Bliss. I had a breakthrough on one of the fairy stories; I realised the King had to be a major character, since another of the major characters is going to end up married to him – or rather already is married to him, except that at the moment he doesn’t know it (it’s complicated). Yes, of course there’s a King – this is fairy-tale-land, after all.
I wrote and wrote and wrote; the BBC National Orchestra of Wales played the Lalo Cello concerto and Rachmaninov’s Symphonic Dances, and there was a lovely Choral Evensong recorded in Tewkesbury Abbey. Then the radio got talky, and I reverted to my cd collection, and had myself a little two-man lieder recital featuring Favourite Baritone singing Schumann, and Roderick Williams singing Vaughan Williams... then followed that up with Joshua Bell and Edgar Meyer playing bluegrass, and Iarla O’Lionnard singing unaccompanied Irish traditional music. And I wrote, wrote, wrote.
Wound down at last with a bit of typing-up, a curry, and an early night. The only problem with a day spent so happily is that I have to come into work the next day and earn my living, when all I want to do is take Hierra and Sir Robert, and King Juan, and the stroppy horse, on to their next adventure.