Do you remember that film “If it’s Tuesday it must be Belgium?” It was a parody of those whistle-stop coach tours they had in the 60’s and 70’s covering a country a day. It was designed so people could go home and tell all their friends and relatives that they had ‘done’ France on Monday, then Germany on Wednesday and so on. They could ‘do’ the whole of Europe on a Thompson’s Travel Week in only seven days. It’s a bit like that for me now “If it’s Monday / Friday, it must be blog day.”
I’m beginning to feel like a guinea pig running round and round endlessly on a little plastic wheel, round and round and round. I can see blog days and publication days and promo days stretching on and on and on into the future. I see millions of Face Book posts and review reading and review writing and twittering and tweeting and re-tweeting and web page updating floating before my eyes to eternity. And I’m not yet into Tumbler, and Pinterest and whatever else they might invent in the future.
I see endless lists reminding me to email back, thank people, hundreds of emails to clear, fretting when I have to stop to go shopping, cook, clean, wash clothes or do the ironing.
I see myself pacing up and down, up and down, up and down the terrace working out plots, and fitting the pieces together, working out reasons why, and how and when.
What a miserable life right? Yes and no. I couldn’t stop writing, even if I tried, I get withdrawal symptoms and having written something I desperately want to share it with millions of people. And yes, the royalty checks are nice too (till the tax man notices).
But then a review drops into the box, or an email from a reader who says…. And suddenly, it is all worth it and it’s the only thing in the world I want to do.
Which brings me to Edward the something or other and what he wanted to do. Apparently all those stories about him being a sickly child are quite wrong, (I can only suppose someone found his NHS records). He was in fact ‘of rude health’. I don’t think this means he didn’t have any manners.
Here is Edward’s favourite baby photograph by Hands Wholebin.
Daddy betrothed him to a seven month old baby. Luckily that was cancelled as he didn’t think the marriage would be all that much fun. He thought it might be difficult for her to walk up the aisle on her wedding day, as she wasn’t even crawling yet and that would not look too dignified for a royal wedding would it? (I think he forget they could get into the Guinness Book of Records with that one, thus immortalizing him forever). Anyway as I have already mentioned, Daddy had blown up and Edward was crowned only a few days after Daddy died. He was 9 years old and they cut the coronation short as he wanted to get back to his school work and dancing lessons.
As predicted there was lots of jostling for power in his cabinet and then he got sick. Who was going to come next? Daddy had written it should be Mary, but Edward had other ideas and he was the king now wasn’t he? So as he lay dying, he wrote out a long letter full of scratching-out bits on it and said that he wanted his cousin Jane to come next. Now personally, for a fifteen year old, I don’t think he writes particularly well. He’d never have passed his 11+ with handwriting like that.
Some people thought this was a good idea and some thought it was bad. England waited with bated breath to see what was going to happen. I’ll tell you on Monday.