So we're shifted out of our former Secret Headquarters: a sunny and lovely, though all too small, flat.
Our former surroundings were horse pastures and orchards, and it was delightful.
The new house has its own, peculiar, charms and delights. Not unlike that house in Anne Rice's The Witching Hour.
I'm still armpits deep in boxes and trying to figure out where we packed the towels, etc. but I'm still writing, still revising, and I'll blog properly again tomorrow. Promise.
Meantime, I now live in a place where there are no right angles, the floors slope like the deck of a ship, icy drafts curl through the air even in the middle of summer, and dark shapes flutter behind the surfaces of mirrors. And this house has a lot of mirrors...
Will this have an effect on my work? We shall see. Certainly all those stairs will be good for the exercise!
Meantime, I really should go see about that noise out the window. A bit like the flap of leathery wings...