This will, of necessity, be a short post. I’m suffering from a nasty head cold, the kids are home on three weeks of school holidays, and it’s winter and it’s bloody cold. Humph.
But really, I’m secretly very happy with this situation. Because due to this alchemy of sickness, lack of need to rush out the door each morning and absolutely no desire to do so because it’s freaking freezing, I have been discovering – and positively wallowing in – the pleasure of writing in bed.
Warm quilts plumped around me. A cat or two curled against my side. A steaming cup of mint tea on the bedside table … ah, bliss! I wrote in bed until a very obscene hour today, rising only to throw cat food in the cats’ bowls and cereal in the kids’.
Very Barbara Cartland of me ...
... but I’m loving it.
So tell me. Where is your most indulgent, most enjoyable, place to write?