This time next week I shall be down in Devon!
It's fine to tell you this, by the way. No point in going round to try to rummage through my valuables because a) I don't have any and b) I'm leaving the house in the capable hands of my six-foot plus son who is armed with two loaded terriers and a big dog who will not hesitate to bumble over the feet of any would-be housebreakers, and cause them grievous injury with his tail.
I am in Devon as a result of the Choc Lit competition held by Mel Hudson, where entrants could win a weekend in her lovely Devon cottage, with the added incentives of some writing workshops/talks held by Mel. To prevent an inundation of applicants, there was the caveat that I would also be present, waving my arms about and generally being obstructive.
Anyway. Two lucky but misguided people won, and will therefore be spending next weekend sampling Mel's hospitality, doing some writing, and trying to avoid me. I'm going to be talking about 'character', unless I've had a few glasses of Prosecco, in which case I shall mostly be slurring about how modern-day pants are too thin and I can't get hats that don't make me look like the Human Cannonball.
We shall also, hopefully - because they might all have locked themselves in the toilet, climbed out through the window and hitched a lift to Barnstaple to get away from me - be launching 'I Don't Want to Talk About It' with copious amounts of Prosecco and elderflower cordial.
I'm really looking forward to it. Not sure about everyone else, though...
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