It’s one of those grey, dark, wet mornings where you can inadvertently sleep in because the bedroom remains dark for an extra two hours.
That could be a problem if you have a day job, like most of us.
But, today is Sunday, and it’s just what I need.
Time to mull over the latest storyline, marshal my thoughts, write the prose in my head.
OK, that not working for me.
The rain is getting heavier, and is splashing outside; the steady waterfall of overflow from the gutters is taking away my concentration.
Rain, rain, go away …
I have two different visions.
A cold, grey day in London (is there any other sort of day?) waiting for a train, and seeing the woman of your dreams go past, standing in the doorway, and in that fraction of a second your eyes meet, a connection is made.
I suspect it has fuelled many a song such as ‘The Look of Love’.
The second is on a desolate section of coastline as for north as you can go in Scotland (yes, I am a glutton for punishment), and she is standing on the cliff top gazing out to sea, hair blowing in the wind. Silent, strong, resolute.
The rain has gone.
Notes hastily scribbled in a notebook for later reference.
It’s time to get up and contemplate a late breakfast or maybe an early lunch.