Novels and sledgehammers

Blimey, there goes the kitchen wall! Forget concertina doors, there is now absolutely nothing between us and the back garden.

Ah, building works. As our old kitchen had begun to gang up on us, the broken tiles cutting the children's toes, the kitchen doors goadingly hanging off their hinges, there was nothing for it but to replace the damn thing. And I have spent the summer discovering that, yes, I AM the kind of woman who can get excited by a tap! I care, really care, what shade of grey my grouting will be. It's a whole new world of consumer obsession. Forget handbags, let's talk door handles.

Still, the novelty of trying to write while two Polish guys smash our house to bits is admittedly beginning to wear off. The day when 'the works' will actually be finished, much like my novel, seems so far off as to be kind of unimaginable.

I want to write The End beneath them both.

Hope you're having a brilliant summer!