Working on new idea for novel number three while my wonderfully perceptive agent, James, combs the tats out of novel number two. So working on something new which means thinking time. AKA looking around my towers of papers, turrets of books and the sea of wood that is my desk with its flotsam and jetsam. My desk appals most people. It's like my bedroom when I was a teenager. I could live my whole in that room and ditto from this desk as a supposed Grown Up With Responsibilities. Make-up. Bottle of water. Probably not drinkable. Magazines with my stories in, magazines without. Harrumph. Head phones to listen to missed radio programmes, and recorded bits of novel, printer, computer, hard drive, DVDs, pens that work, pens that don't work. Pencils with points, pencils without. Hand gel. Next year's diary. Two in fact. An Australian ten dollar note. Fisherman's Friends because of the sore throat. I'm singing on Saturday. Sorry all you dentists. What can a person do? Promise to floss. Yup, there's some of that here somewhere.  A book which tells me how to get an egg inside a bottle and back out = Important Research for Short Story Which Magazine Might Buy. Harrumph again. 1955 song book complete with chords for keyboard. Tub of elastic bands. Hand cream. Scissors which won't cut a thing. What are serrated scissors meant to cut? Cheap serrated scissors. Pound store serrated scissors. The only thing they do is look like crocodile jaws. A red glove. My favourite perfume. Just sprayed myself and the room with it. Gorgeous.  Train tickets for London. There's more and more, but, just for the record, no mouldy food or mugs with foam floating in the dregs. So I'm not a complete Grown Up Slob With Responsibilities. There's more but my feet are getting cold, sitting. So got to get off the chair and have a look about the room, find something to tidy up, have some thinking time. Keep you posted.   

Northern Lights Near Miss...?

Abortive trip to see Northern Lights over St Mary's Island at 3am today. Managed to miss it all, though we- which includes Jack, the Aussie backpacker - let our optical imaginations tease us into thinking we saw something, changes in the sky, bands of vague light, wispy movement. Tricks of the mind, probably nothing more. Missed it, in fact, by light years, or at least three hours, if other people's photographs are to be believed. Trying again tonight. Tomorrow the band play at BAA FEST in Bellingham, after a meet-the-author session and a chat with Jane Knights of Folkspot Radio based in Norfolk but in Northumberland for the festival. If you can't get there why not have a listen on  www.folkspot.co.uk
 

Working hard on book two. With my agent's wise words and suggestions it's becoming a complete thing rather than something scatter-gunned onto the page. But all of that work scrambles the brain and requires a break. So  took myself off for a river walk. Chilly. Autumn on its way. Great. Ignoring the bags of dog-do helpfully dotted around the place took  myself down to the fish quay and then back along to the Tyne Estuary. Low tide. The Black Middens trembling with shore birds. Up the bank to have a look at the sea and the benches with their little plaques. Found I wanted to read them all. Lived here for so long and never done that. Came back feeling as if I'd wandered around a cemetery, having wondered about those people behind the names, their stories. Rather lovely, rather peaceful. Brain unscrambled.