Terror in the Twitten

Friday, and have made decent progress on the book this week. The 4th draft will be finished in a few more working days now. Writerly emails to and from Richard and Randolph lately, which is nice. Randolph's play is also coming to Brighton, so I am going to see it here on its last day. He is feeling relieved as the lead actress is finally learning her lines with a few days to spare.

Now that the novel is almost done, I need to earn a bit of cash. And almost miraculously my pal Alice suddenly wants me to write several newsletters about injections for my old agency. This I can do from home. I seem to be living a charmed life.

Yesterday I was typing with my window open and heard what can only be described as Calliope screaming. She bolted in all puffed up and terrified, and proceeded to hide for the next two hours under the sofa, and would only come out with much coaxing. I have never seen her like that. There is something out there that terrified her.

She was reluctant to go out today, which meant that she lay curled around my computer keyboard all morning. Trouble is her butt is exactly where my mouse work gets done, so a lot of the time she is thrashing her tail and giving me warning nips as I write. She refuses to budge until I throw her off. I never realised cats could be so stubborn.

After work was done, and I spent some time playing guitar. After I finished I heard a hot sounding band warming up this evening in the Grand Central pub. I met Lorraine in the Batty, and we wandered to this other pub to watch the band, and have a few drinks. Playing some funky stuff, including a Michael Jackson cover to mark his death today. Although this pub is a few yards from my door, I rarely go to it. It had a bizarre mix of people. Including a middle aged Beryl Cook type family, who were dancing about with some abandon.

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