The day begins with wake up call number one as the cat's wet nose finds its way onto my face. Cat is shoved gracelessly to the floor. An hour later, wake up call number two provides a familiar feeling of disorientation brought on by a dream in which I finally figured out my much-needed Amazing Plot Twist. Sense of almost being able to recollect it shattered by piercing cry from the nursery as Baby telepathically realises I'm thinking about something other than honing Excellent Parenting Skills.
At eight thirty, I realise I am running late. I am due in London to meet disturbingly talented writing pals and haven't so much as entertained the notion of a shower for three days. Shove hair into ponytail in hope of fooling all of London into thinking I'm making an excellent fashion statement instead of hiding the butternut squash and pea purée lovingly mangled in by overly excited Baby last night whilst I was paying too much attention to Eastenders.
Somehow make it onto the 9:29 with ten minutes to spare thanks to Significant Other being ridiculously helpful despite having a Looming Deadline. As I step onto the train, have a vision of forgotten plot twist from abandoned dream. It is unfolding in my mind wonderfully until the buggy wheel gets stuck between the train and platform and I lose every ounce of grace I own getting it loose again. Thankfully there is a baby already crying in the same carriage, so I am at least spared the embarrassment of having the loudest one.
Lunch is wonderful. Coffee, tiramisu, stale sandwiches. Disturbingly talented writer pals are disturbing as ever. Am inspired to write. Baby is going to bed at 7pm nowadays so I can cook dinner, eat it and still have a couple of hours to write before falling unconscious on the space bar. I shall write like a fury. I shall get at least one chapter written, possibly two.
On the train home I remember Amazing Plot Twist. Yes! Plot suddenly makes sense. Book will be wonderful. A bestseller. Most importantly, it will be WRITTEN. I rummage in rucksack for a pen, one eye on Baby who has been asleep in the buggy for an hour and is surely going to wake up ANY MINUTE NOW. Scribble Amazing Plot Twist down in illegible scrawl and pat self on the back for achieving long awaited parenting skill excellence by doing all this without waking Baby.
Get home exhausted but fired up ready to write. Afternoon and evening pass in a blur of face grabbing and tone-deaf Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and visions of Craig Revel Horwood holding up a '4' and saying "total disarster daaaarling". Baby smushes pureed peach onto my face as confirmation of Current Life Status.
Baby finally goes to bed at 9pm. Grab glass of wine and turn computer on. Must rewrite plot given new sparkly Amazing Plot Twist and get on with next chapter. Reread mad don't-wake-the-baby-up scrawl and realise that it's the plot of yesterday's episode of In the Night Garden.
Still, must get back to the Book. In wine- and exhaustion-induced haze, I write a scene that must've been festering at the back on my occipital and wonder whether wine is a necessary conductor for my writing process. Will be sure to test theory tomorrow.