Fortunately Tilly and Campbell got the thumbs up from my editor, and as you can see from my high-tech timetable here I am getting stuck into their story.  I was rather pleased with my staggered timetable – rather than a standard target of 8 pages a day, sometimes I gave myself 5 or 7, and allowed one day a week off, in the hope that I would get ahead of myself and gain a psychological boost from that.  I even gave myself a three page start, but have to admit that so far I’ve only managed to meet my target every day – there hasn’t been a lot of exceeding going on! 

Even so, the book is progressing.  I am currently stuck up a Scottish hillside with Campbell and Tilly, and beginning to think it’s time to get them down … They’re taking part in a reality TV programme of challenges (I’m keeping all this stuff deliberately vague) which began with Tilly having to abseil down a rock face.  I didn’t have to do any research for this, as I was able to base it entirely on my own experience.  I, too, had an arm locked around the neck of both guys who were holding the rope at the top and begged them frantically not to let me go, just as she does.  At least Tilly doesn’t actually cry the way I did!  One of my more humiliating experiences – and out of so many to choose from, too.

I had to do the abseiling as part of my job years ago when I worked for a charity called Operation Raleigh which sent young people on expeditions around the world (and still does, I think, under a different name) I was co-ordinator of what was then known as the Inner City Scheme and we used to run training weeks for those venturers before their expedition.  I’m useless when it comes to outward boundy stuff (like Tilly, I am deeply unfit and hate getting cold and wet and not being able to wash and dry my hair), so it was just as much a learning experience for me as for the venturers.  I used to love the long treks, although never learnt to read a map, but was less keen on the caving and canoeing.  The abseiling was my lowest point, though.  For a long time I refused to even try (wrong attitude, I know) but everyone insisted that I would love it if I ever gave it a go …. How wrong can so many people be???!  Here is that awful moment, preserved for posterity: I know it looks as if I’m smiling, but if you use your imagination I am sure you can work out what I am about to say in basic Anglo-Saxon in response to the heartless laughter echoing around the rocks!

Apart from the abseiling, I had a great time at Raleigh.  It was the best job I ever had, if possibly the worst paid, and I remember laughing a lot (when not weeping with terror).  I have very fond memories of long journeys in the back of a Ford Transit, with Rumours on the stereo (well, it was the Eighties).  In fact, I’ve been listening to Fleetwood Mac while I’m writing – amazing how a piece of music can transport you back to a different time and place.  I often have one CD that I listen to obsessively while I’m writing a book and then rarely hear again, so I should be word perfect on Rumours by the end of the month …

All in all, I am (fingers crossed) rather enjoying this book so far, which makes a nice change, and it has been proving a good means of escape from other things that have been preoccupying me recently.  My beloved Mungo has been diagnosed with diabetes and we are struggling with the daily insulin injections, which leave both of us stressed and upset every morning. Everyone at the vet’s has been wonderful, especially Tracey, one of the nurses, who has been handing out tissues on a daily basis.  I feel so ashamed for making such a fuss when people have to cope with children with diabetes or all sorts of other terrible conditions and illnesses, but Mungo is part of my life and I hate having to hurt him to help him, and we’re both getting in such a state about it, that it’s hard to know what to do for the best. 

By the way, for those of you wondering what has happened to the two kittens who dominated the blog for a while, they are very much part of life too, now, although Archie is still holding out on the affection front.  He was clearly born with that ‘treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen’ mentality, but as he turns up for his meals and looks so pretty, I’m afraid he gets away with it.  He’s the cool kid on the block, and I often see him hanging out with the other cats on the garden walls.  The big love of his life, though, is Mungo.  He adores him, and is always trying to rub up against him and strop under his chin, or, very inconveniently, to follow us up the street on our walks.  This means turning round and going home, then sneaking out another door, all of which takes up an extraordinary amount of time.  Douglas is a real kitchen cat, and horribly greedy, but I forgive him everything because he’s so sweet.  I still haven’t managed the lap cat I yearn for, but Douglas does purring and somersaulting and rolling over to have his tummy tickled so at least he’s trying, unlike Archie. 

Like most cats, they have a wonderful life doing exactly what they want, and spending most of their time lolling around on my bed, like here.   It’s all right for some, eh?