Bad news and scavenging

The bad news is that the agent has turned my novel down. He just "didn't love it enough to take it what is a very crowded marketplace." However he did have a suggestion that could be useful and he did say that he liked the characters and plot. So that's progress of a kind.

But it's still a bummer. I will send it out again, of course. Rejection is part of the game and I wish it got easier. It doesn’t. Each rejection still hurts just as much, but I skim a layer of anti-hurt cream on now. I’m not sure that it does much good, but I can kid myself. Who knows, I might be able to market it and make a fortune?

The good news is that we’re becoming professional scavengers now, always on the lookout for burnable wood.

On the beach the other day, my friend Sue and I walked our dogs in a howling gale and scoured the beach for driftwood. I found one piece – the rest was wet, knobbly seaweed, slimy and a curious dark green/brown colour.

As we walked back to our cars, we noticed a skip outside the café which is being renovated. ‘Look!’ said Sue. The skip was piled with wood that had been ripped out of the decking.

So we scurried off, got two large plastic bags and filled them up. The wood’s soaking, of course, we’ve had so much rain, but it can dry out in the garage.

Himself was so pleased that when we went down there this morning to walk Moll, he asked the foreman of the job if he could bring a trailer down to pick up the rest of the wood. The foreman said that was fine, to come down within the hour.

The next difficulty was getting Barrie organised (he’s the one with the trailer.) Barrie rang at about ten last night, fresh from the pub, saying he’d be happy to offer his trailer for the wood if Himself would repair a goat leg table.

I’ve never come across such a thing, and neither had Himself, but given that Barrie had probably been in the pub since six, neither of us worried too much about that.

By some miracle this morning Barrie was not only up but remembered the gist of the conversation last night, so the two men have gone off on a serious scavenge.

We had to get some more coal as well and stocked up this morning after walking the dog. As we’ve got some cheap stuff that doesn’t burn well, I suggested we get some decent stuff that will last longer.

‘This is what they recommend,’ said Himself when we met in the coal department. ‘It’s Welsh.’

I looked down and there, in large letters, was written,
WELSH ANTHRACITE
LARGE NUTS

What more could a girl ask for?