I’m behind deadline again but you know what? I don’t care. This is officially the first sunny weekend of Spring and I have been making the most of it. The house is a tip. The laundry basket is overflowing. There are piles pf paper on the table demanding my actions: bills, work, half-finished drafts of long overdue letters.
We went and visited my grandma out in Oxfordshire, then walked back along the Thames to the train station, stopping along the way for a cooling perry cider in the beer garden of a pub that’s been there for hundreds of years. Back in Brixton, our neighbours were barbecuing in the front yard, waiting for the Grand National to run and make them rich off £2 bets (it didn’t). We joined them, creeping up the yard and onto the stoop as the sun set. Today we bought quiche and salad from the Farmer’s Market then lazed in the sun with good mates for the afternoon, watching kites lazily duck and dive in the sky overhead. It’s important to focus and have discipline, but it’s more important to appreciate the absolute fucking miracle of a lovely day and being blessed enough to do nothing but simply lie back and bask in the miracle.
I’ve been struggling a bit with fiction lately. I’m not sure whether to blame Twitter , or the drama of changing jobs, but to cure me of the distractions this week I went back to basics and did some writing exercises. This week’s story, Responsibility, is the result of one of those exercises. You start by opening up a novel at any page and using the first sentence you see to open your piece. The opening sentence is taken from A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. I hope you like it.