There’s some news on the editing report…I should get it some time next week. In the meantime, I’m reading through the first novel carefully, making notes on the computer.
From the autobiography I’ve been working on. This is an account of childhood walks in the north of England:
Most Sundays, we spent the day hiking in the country. Often, we would hurry away in the car with the David Jacobs programme playing on the car radio. I loved it on Sunday mornings when we were in the car and the third movement of Beethoven’s Seventh symphony – the scherzo and trio movement – burst out over the speaker, the rises and falls in the music matching the mounts and vales of the country road. The countryside meant a lot to me – as did music.
War memorials. Village church clocks. Quarries stretching out at the bottom of winding roads. Pieces of machinery humming over the stillness as we climbed steep hills. We walked in all weather conditions, our boots tramping in mud when it rained, our cagoules protecting us against Pennine winds. Most Sundays, we walked about seven or eight miles, stopping for a sandwich lunch on the trail.