DH is mooching around the lounge. I can see him mooching because he is in the lounge and so am I. Ideally I would be tapping away in the solitude of my study, but I don’t have one. So I am in the lounge. This is the same lounge that doubles up as the TV room, the entertainment area, the dining room and part is also occupied by the kitchen. In fact we do everything in the lounge except sleep (unless the TV is super boring) spend the night and shower.

I know he is going to say something, but being DH it will be in his own good time. He mooches some more, mooch, mooch, mooch and then finally comes out with it.

“You’re not really going to throw Amie 2 in the bin are you?”

Is this a breakthrough? I wonder. Is he finally taking a real interest in my writing? Or is he just miffed he’s read Amie 2 TWICE and wasted his time?

“Are you?” he persists.

“No, probably not. A couple of people on Facebook reassured me that it’s quite good.”

“So you will publish it then?”

“Well yes, I guess so.”

He peers at the screen. “So what are you doing now?”

“I am revising the 388 times I’ve used the word ‘then’, and after that I will investigate the 136 x ‘maybes’ that are totally unnecessary, and the word ‘just’ slipped in 290 times without me noticing.”

“Ah right.” He mooches off, but only a few feet, it is a small lounge. I have now learned to ignore the radio, the television, the phone conversations and I’m working my way up to conducting conversations all while writing. No mean feat.

I tap away, considering if I should push the point I could have taken up, say playing on an X Box thingie, you know lots of bangs, whoops, clattery noises, ding dong and pow! sounds when you slaughter some screen character. I could point out it could be worse, at least writing is a quiet, peaceful occupation.

The semi-silence is broken.

“So you are going to publish it then? Not as bad as you thought it was? I thought it was OK.” (high praise from DH)

“Yes I guess so.”

“Is it ready yet?”



Back to the past, where we were learning about poor Charles I of England. At least he was the first one of these, refreshing not to have yet another name repeated isn’t it?

I call him poor? Well he was not that poor, he had lots of money but he spent it rather quickly, far too quickly. This is partly because he refused to shop at Primark and Walmart, preferring to have his gorgeous outfits made to measure in Saville Row. His bank manager was furious with him, he was sick of extending his overdraft. He was not impressed when Charles promised to tax the ships and repay the outstanding loans by forcing people to sail away to sea. This he called the Ship money.

Photo of a marble bank
Photo of a marble bank

If the bank manager was going to be obdurate, Charles then decided to get parliament to give him money, but they were even more measly than Barclays, Lloyds or HSBC. They insisted there was no need to purchase from Fortnum and Masons for the state banquets held daily, and he should shop at Lidl’s like everyone else.


Charles was furious. He said that he ruled by the Divine right of Kings – he was king and that was right, Kings were divine and that was right, Kings were right and that was right and everything else was all right.


Coming out of Primark clutching his ecologically-friendly, brown paper bags, Cromwell didn’t agree, and on Friday I will tell you what he said.

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