The Novel

· Eagles swooped low over Verulamium, the fourteenth legion had arrived…
· St Albans wasn’t the only city struck down by the plague…
· Verulamium’s sheep were small and meek mannered…

Why is it that you can always think of good ways to start your novel and then the washing, baby, book on Edwardian St Albans you are supposed to be writing, distract you? I’ve come to the conclusion that should anyone want a book on how to write off the cuff puns, first paragraphs of novels or how to waste time, I’m your woman. Anything else, forget it. Oh, actually I can also manage sexual innuendo; Hubby confronted me with a drill bit earlier, want anything drilling love?
This week has provided me with conclusive evidence that teenagers dressed in 1980’s clothing are really quite decent. In a rather comedic episode baby and me could not enter hubby’s Victoria Street offices. Steps, door on locking catch, pram, I’m sure you can imagine the scenario. Who should come to the rescue? But four scary looking, but actually very very nice teenagers. The youth of today, much better than the pensioners. I even instructed them to help themselves to the odd laptop or whatever they could find; after all they didn’t break and enter.

· They didn’t break and enter, nevertheless Scarlet found herself in a difficult position. Should she come out of her hiding hole in amongst the old biscuits and mouse poo or stay there until nightfall?


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