WRITERS WILL DO ANYTHING TO PROCRASTINATE ; ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A WRITER

A crazy day yesterday. Started with email going down, having to rush to school, do reading club, cancel coffee with my darling friend Lou to get the email sorted, wrestle with someone at BT to give me back my f***ing password, check issue to do with work sorted out, find number 3 son's lost saxophone, take it back to school, come home to find two polite strangers on my doorstep asking if they could possibly take a picture of the house, as they grew up here when the house was brand new in the 60's, asking them in, showing off our splendid extension, hearing great anecdotes about the old days, getting quite teary, agreeing the house has a lovely vibe and amazingly after 50 years has only had 3 families living here, wave goodbye, do a chapter of my 'serious' novel, chop onions for loussaka/masagna, Tweet to some 50 Shades sites in an effort to suggest something rivetting to read (my Unbreakable Trilogy, natch) while they are waiting for the movie to come out, including a  French site where it is called 50 Nuances (lovely French word) who I chat to in French (yeah, get me!), doorbell rings, 6 enormous schoolboys come with Number 2 son to watch football along with dazed looking man to read the electricity and gas meters, let them in (the boys that is), switch my huge TV over from Wimbledon to World Cup, shut teenagers firmly in the playroom, order the meter man through the tradesmen's entrance, add mince (to the frying pan, not the meter man), try not to overhear disgusting conversation coming from playroom, open tin of Italian chopped tomatoes, glance at Nadal winning next round at Wimbledon on tiny kitchen telly, doorbell rings again, my boss arrives wondering if we are having a family row because there's so much noise coming from the house, explain that it is the teenagers roaring at their mobile phones, note that she is looking fragrant and gorgeous while I am in old maxi dress and 'keep calm and carry on cooking' apron and no lipstick, collapse with her on the patio for five minutes, drink lemonade but long for chardonnay, say goodbye, grate loads of cheese with one egg and crème fraiche to make my version of béchamel, lodger and student return home and dump bags of washing in what number 2 son used to call the 'nativity room'... and on it goes. Total writing time: 1 hour.