Lucy brought me a mole this morning. I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt; it was uninjured and cold, and I wonder if someone poisoned it and she found it. Usually she eats everything she catches, but not this. I'd never seen a mole close up before. Such amazing fur, like heavy velvet. Lots of teeth. And those spade like hands, big enough to grip my finger. Six toes on each back foot. I suppose it had spoiled someone's lawn. I had a mole in the garden of my last house. The molehills were very useful - quantities of soft, fine soil perfect for potting on seedlings. I like to feel we worked in tandem, the mole and I. He ate the quantities of earthworms that I shovelled onto the garden from my compost heap, and in return he was a veritable John Innes.
48 hours to copy deadline on the magazine. Two more reviews in today but no sign of the publisher interview, the one I really need. At least I've never bitten my fingernails. I'd be down to my elbows by now. But the barcode arrived, which was quite a surprise. I already had my backup plan for a barcodeless magazine. Now I'm thinking we ought to have mugshots of the team by the door of the launch. There will be so many people there that I won't recognise (I hope. It might just be me and a bowl of twiglets). And I'm knackered. I want to crawl into bed right now, but there's just too much to do. So I'm mainlining caffeine, and waiting for something to happen...
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