Next week’s calendar

I’ve just taken a look at my calendar for next week and closed the diary rather quickly! There are things happening very nearly every day and I feel weak at the knees just contemplating them, although I know that the water will be lovely once I’ve jumped in.



The long week will actually start this Friday morning, when my sister comes down to visit for the weekend and there will be family gatherings.


But then Monday starts my working week with a bang and an ice cream, because that’s when I’m taking my two newly published books into Pinks Parlour in Waterloo Square between 10.30am and 12pm, where I hope to sell and sign some of them. And I’ve never done a signing in an ice cream parlous before! Quite a lot of friends say they will come and it will be lovely to see them and the local press are sending a photographer, so I shall need to brush my hair! And that day is going to spin me into the rest of the week.

Tuesday is going to be a lot of fun, because I’m going into a local primary school in Bersted to take questions from a class of eight year olds, I’m looking forward to this a lot because eight year olds are such fun! I wonder what questions they’ll ask.

Then on Wednesday evening, I’m going to the Swan in Arundel to give a talk in support of the local CHINDI group and to help launch their book of Christmas short stories and that will be fun too, because I shall be among friends.

Thursday I shall collapse exhausted on my sofa and then Friday will rush upon me with two things happening almost simultaneously. I have an appointment at the eye clinic in Chichester, where my chicken pox ridden left eye will be examined and I shall have drops put in my eyes that will give me, shall we say, rather clouded vision. Which is a pity because immediately afterwards I’m going to a tea party to celebrate the 75th birthday of an old friend of mine and I’d rather like to see him and his guests very clearly, but I shall squint at them and love them very dearly anyway!

After that I shall collapse on the sofa again. Oh if only I could be eighteen instead of eighty-eight!

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