After two weeks of intermittent rain, yesterday was sunny and I was determined to be outside all day to make the most of it. I rode my bike, went for a walk with Dave, and then planted heaps of wallflowers, only coming in from the garden when the light was fading.
Then I collapsed with weariness, and my legs ached all through a bad, bad night. So it’s official: I am old. I can no longer manage to do everything I want to do in a day without falling to pieces.
On the other hand, I have decided that I AM going to write a screenplay, and I’m very excited. I just have to decide if I’m adapting But I Told You Last Year That I Loved You, or Plotting for Grown-ups. The latter is more filmic, and anyway, you and I have already chosen the actors, so I think PfG is the one.
I have ordered screenplays of When Harry Met Sally and Casablanca, and I am looking for cheap copies of screenplays of Tootsie and Truly Madly Deeply.
Watch this space.
That book – Life and Fate - is just there to impress you. I have borrowed it from my erudite friend, Christine Poulson, to check it out. I don’t think I’ll be reading it now these screenplays are winging their way in my direction. Yes – just like Sally Howe – I am “ineluctably, intellectually shallow – a cultural low-life.”