Rain's just swept the distant Plymouth shoreline out of view. Oh well, it will encourage me to get down to the business of moving office and home (I've been appointed to the Chair of Creative Writing at the University of Hull from 1st September). The last four days, with a car hire, have been in merry holiday mode however. Yesterday we stood up on Dartmoor looking back at our apartment on Plymouth Hoe, and have been up n the moors for the last three days. Prior to that was a chase through the seas off Penzance, our rubber inflatable bouncing through the swell in search of basking sharks. No such sightings, but it was pleasant to view the skies, and the coastline from out at sea (looking upat John le Carre's house, a run of three white terraced cottages on the cliff edge near the tip of the peninsula).
The new novel kicked back in during my time in France. It gives a kind of balance, the hermit life, writing and walking in nature, but when I find I've lodged the loaf in the knife drawer and my slipper's in the washing machine, I suspect I need to step back into the world for a while. I've been living more in 1938 than 2009.