Today

My publishing work and my PR and marketing for the new book – BUT I TOLD YOU LAST YEAR THAT I LOVED YOU – have taken up so much time this spring (as did two narrowboat holidays, badly timed) that my neglected garden went wild.

My two worlds intersect today. A journalist and a photographer from a glossy magazine are coming to take pictures of me. I tried to deflect them by saying, “Why don’t you take a picture of me at Monsal Head? It would make a lovely backdrop, and a scene from the book is set there.” No dice. They wanted to take pictures of me in my home and garden.

So for the last week I have been weeding, tidying, dragooning Dave into mowing the lawns, and generally tearing my hair out. The garden looks better but there is so much still to do, and no time to do it.

As for the house, I have been dusting places that didn’t know what a duster was. They reeled back, affronted, and said “What’s this yellow thing that’s invading my space?”  Don’t you find it so much more satisfying doing the dusting when you actually find a thick grey fur on your duster every few minutes?  It lends an air of gratification to a very tedious task.  Yes – i admit it – I am a slattern. And I agree with Fran in my book who says:

the job of housewife is like the job of projectionist at the cinema – you get no appreciation, and people only notice when you don’t do your job.

This is a picture of me ( © Fabio De Paola ) taken a couple of years ago, when my garden was better tended and not the disreputable patch it is today.