under another sun

Up early and working for three or four hours on my new horror story first thing. It is going quite well. I enjoy my writing most when I discover as I write what the story is about, and how to tweak the plot. This work done, I seemed to have expended all my enthusiasm and focus for the day. Pottered about replying to my accountant, and listing things that I should be doing if only I had enthusiasm. My back is stiff and painful. Nearing the end of The Plot Against America . The character's wearying raging against the politics of their time, and the slide away from truth and towards fascism feels all too familiar now. Chatted to Anton. He is bored, being made to work very hard, and can't see the end of the plague.   Threatening rain here in Brighton much of the day without delivering much. It was warm, and my lightning tracker went off a few times, alerting me of the exciting fact lightning was occurring within 50 miles. I walked up to the hill fort again, but decided not to tarry...

Keen to have Lorraine depressurise at the weekend, but today the school alarm kept going off mysteriously, necessitating a dozen phone calls over Saturday. We also chatted to Pat and Maureen, still doing well in Ashford. We did have some relaxing times however, such as planting the tomatoes which had sprouted from seeds in our bathroom. Other garden produce growing well. We deadheaded roses in the front garden, and Lorraine tucked in the wisteria to a lattice.  I took myself for a walk on Sunday, finding the ground gasping for water, which has fallen everywhere else. Here is the round pond near the top of Hollingbury Hill, and read more of Bruno Schulz's short stories. I have also been listening to The Plot Against America by Phillip Roth. By coincidence, the last audiobook I read, Carrying the Fire , had an introduction by Charles Lindbergh, who is the villain in Roth's alternative history book.