Sunday

I had a good day today. I got up around nine and had the first of many cups of coffee. Then I hit the laptop and posted an interview with fellow writer James Manlow. Following this, I updated posts for my novel The Butterfly Collector, for Twitter and Facebook, and headed back downstairs for a spot of restorative T’ai Chi. Actually, I didn’t do it in that order at all, but, hey, this is supposed to be random!

Walking is good for you. It’s also a sign you’re getting old. Today, I walked from the car to the Fisherman Café and ate a sizeable breakfast. As a hole in my shoe prevented me from venturing too far on foot, my chauffeur brought the car round and kindly helped me in it. Off we went to the first of many emporiums where I was forced to endure the tedium of shopping. I seem to return to this theme frequently in my novels, as it enthrals, fascinates and baffles me in equal measure. Men were born without the ‘browsing’ feature that women seem to have in such infinite capacity. Yes, we like the food and magazine department in Marks and Spencer, but that’s about it. We much prefer to move on quickly, preferably to the car park and home without stopping.

Waterstones is still my favourite shop. Here I can linger, without the urgency of time or other trivial matters to bother me, and marvel at the latest offerings from a wide range of authors. Could we seriously contemplate a world without these colourful works of art? What a dull and cheerless place it would be. A book is a thing of beauty. A Kindle is … well, a Kindle.

Home in the afternoon for the second session on the laptop and more coffee. Isn’t that how Sunday’s should always be?