There is no fun to be had in trying to publicise your book when you have recently had a small scale tsunami assault your abode. None. None at all. I am actually in my local library trying write this post, because as you will be aware, my computer's hard drive took an unwanted bath on Anzac Day. I do not feel like fiddle-farting at my husband's laptop later, so I'm sitting in the library hissing at my kids to play nicely on the play station, and not to bother me for anything else out of the vending machine. Someone today told me I sound like a committed mother. I think I am more like a mother who is about to be committed. Hands up who likes having all their clothing shoved in various laundry baskets all over the house and being unable to locate anything? Yes, just as I thought: there is an underwhelming show of hands out there.
The other day, I lifted the lid to a trunk which had contained photographs. The whiff that kicked the olfactory was akin to what must have greeted any stake-armed hunters after opening the lid to the vampire's coffin. I pulled on the rubber gloves, and got out the photographs, albums, toys. Mold was forming on the inner walls of the box, so I wiped it out with white vinegar, tea tree oil, and oil of cloves. I am quite the environmentally friendly little cleaner-upper when I am in the rare mood to clean. I am just going to throw out the photographs that are all clumped together. Fortunately, other photographs survived. The ones at the top of the pile, that is. My wedding album wasn't in that box, thank the Lord. I found an old black and white photograph of me. I am about three or four years old, wearing checked overalls, and standing in the back yard of my old childhood home, holding a rope attached to the halter of one of my father's horses. I see so much of my younger son in the shy-yet-sly smile I am giving the camera. Some photographs made me a little misty-eyed, like ones with my late mother and late father-in-law. Some made me wonder what I had been thinking at the time I pressed the shutter: I had no recollection of the people in the subject, and remembered they were friends of friends, and ergo not worth bothering over, and into the garbage bag they will go.
Was all geared up to pre-record a radio interview yesterday. The journalist was delayed. I was going to just try and re-schedule when teh decision was taken from me: the school advised Number One Son had had an injury in the playground. Well, he won't watch where he is going when playing handball and run into a bench, will he? So, I ended up with him at the surgery where he was given three stitches and advised no soccer this weekend. This is the same kid who on Thursday asked me to help with his homework that had to be typed. He had a paragraph to be typed, and I said we would go to the library to do this. I typed it. He said the teacher had said it had to be at least two pages. I looked at him and said, in the hallowed sanctuary that is the library, 'You are shitting me, right?' So I had to wait for him to do his homework, and bang went our other plans to visit an op shop to purchase some cheap blankets to replace ones ruined in the flood.
But launch coming up this Friday. I hope people are practising their 'mwahs', and saying 'faaaaabulous!'
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