I had a magical time on Monday.

The Easter weekend had been spent with family, doing the good company, good food and good fun thing, but on Monday I headed out onto the fells alone.

We’d had some snow (Husband told me to take great care about three times in as many hours) and the fell forecast talked about wind chill factors of -16, told walkers to be aware of fresh snow laying on top of frozen, compacted snow and said, “the cornices on the eastern slopes of Helvellyn should be avoided”.

You don’t say.

But the sun was shining when I set out, and the day was fresh and bright.  I worked my way up from the valley floor past Birkett’s Leap and Puddingstone Bank into the secretive hanging valley called Watendlath.  The tarn was shining silver grey and still, and snow-heavy clouds were moving in from the north-west.

There was snow, but not much – little swirls and patches jealously guarded by their shading tussock or stone.  In the little hamlet by the tarn, I bought frothy milky coffee and shared a rock bun with the brave, pink-chested chaffinches, while the rising wind blew their feathers the wrong way.

I turned my back on my first choice of route – up to Dock Tarn and down by Lingy End – and decided instead to set off down Watendlath to descend via High Lodore.  Under the hanging, shattered crags of Ether Knott, and the dripping-damp woods of Mire Moss, the snow came down in earnest.  Silent, still, dancing flakes that snagged on my face and tickled my hands.  I stood in the woodland and lifted my head to watch it fall.  Sifted winter-white against a backdrop of pure emerald green, each spindly ancient oak and young hazel cloaked in velvet moss that smoothed out hummocks and stumps and made a soft and hidden land.

It was hard to decide if I’d wandered into Narnia, or if I’d found my way to Middle Earth.  I swear, I would not have been surprised to see a dryad step out from her tree.

Then on, through the woodland, deafened by the thunder of Watendlath Beck tumbling down its ravine to Lodore Falls.  A careful descent of Ladder Brow, with Green Bank on my left, and Hogs Earth looming over my right shoulder.  Back to the car past Comb Gill, Leathersides Dub and Cummacatta Wood, Eelstep Brow and the Boulder Stone.

I love so many things about where I live.

But the names are high on the list.

Minnie, Pippi, Cleo and Chrissy are being particularly talkative today.  I’d like to share their latest announcements….

Pippi

“Mmmprrrp!” (on a rising, perky note)  Translation:  “I am intensely pleased with myself having just been outside in the cold and informed the world in no uncertain terms of my superiority.”

Chrissy

“MEEE!”  Translation:  This one’s easy.  This one means, “ME”.  Or, on occasion, if she’s feeling really communicative, it can mean, “the world is big and scary and peopled by non-ginger beings and unaccountably NOT full of tender morsels of meat smothered in a rich gravy.”

Cleo

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeek!” (In a high pitched squeak accomanied by full-body vibrations)  Translation:  “I am brave and I want to go outside, NOW!” or “I am scared and I want to come inside, NOW!”

Minnie

“. . . . “  Minnie’s mostly silent.  But she communicates by purrs and body-rubbing, which means, “I really, really, really love you so much you’re wonderful especially when you feed me right now feed me I’m hungry right now I really love you feed me….”

Right now, though, the only cat-noise, is Cleo on the stack of filing trays over my desk, doing that little groaning snore thing… honestly, she snores more than Husband…

So, a week ago, I sent in Dangerous Lies.

Now I’m 6,000 words into the next story (okay, so 3,000 of those had been written some time ago).  This week was supposed to be prioritising writing from a selection of other Things I Need To Do like exercise, MA work, dayjob, Husband-related stuff and house work.  Husband got bumped to the head of the list (and quite right, too) when he heard he hadn’t got a job we’d thought he was pretty much a dead cert for.

We’re bummed.  It’s back to the ol’ drawing board, and the ultimate dream of Husband in a job which means he doesn’t work weekends has drifted farther off again.  With Life’s typical irony, his boss decided to give him three days’ holiday – hooray, we think, we can do some stuff together! – and allocated the dates to include two days I’m in another County.

Ho hum.

I know, I know, I’m whining!  Never mind.

On the plus side, he DID have a day off this Saturday, and we went out and bought tiles for the kitchen.  Not that momentous, you’d be fogiven for thinking, except that the kitchen was fitted… um…. several years ago?  And still doesn’t have tiles or proper flooring?

And we found tiles we both liked!  And were affordable!  And went with the kitchen!

Miraculous.

Anyway.  I came in here to tell you I have a WHOLE SUNDAY in which to write.  And this is the first new book I’ve written since I sold.

This is very scary.  And wonderful.

Coffee – CHECK – homemade hazelnut lattes

Music – CHECK – for the first time, this book actually has a sound track (currently Nightswimming by REM) 

Rough idea what I’m doing – CHECK – would you believe there is a real, honest-to-goodness plot plan for the first act of this book?  No, I don’t quite believe it myself.

Let’s see what I can do.

Finished.  DANGEROUS LIES went off to Medallion Press today, trimmed, tidied and polished to within an inch of its life.

Phew.

Someday I’ll tell you the long and tortuous story of the creation of this book, but not right now.

Now we’re drinking champagne cocktails.

Oh, and I’m starting the next one…