I'm sitting at the top of my staircase, with the laptop on a very short leash into a very slow dial-up. But that's a vast improvement. A few days ago I had no gas, no phone, and no idea.
The joys of moving house/countries.
But I'm ensconced in my dream house by the river (I can hear it) and one day I'll find the broadband modem (and the can opener) and life will slowly return to normal.
I'll write more books, unpack my clothes, sort out all these boxes (who owns all these books?) and start on the garden.
Actually I decided the other day I might need to write a Gallipoli book. Got the plot straight away. But is it overdone?
Oh and the advance copies of The Silver Swan arrived in the post. I love that bit.