Writing days

It's been...interesting lately. Especially for someone who spends a lot of time obsessing about village stuff (the latest is our neighbour's mare Pip, having been a dead ringer for a chestnut Zeppelin for an age now, has produced her foal). All Sunday afternoon as we gardened a succession of locals came along saying either 'The foal's out- it's gorgeous!' or - if going the other way-'Somebody said the foal's out! Just how gorgeous is it?' Answers: Yes, I know and Extremely gorgeous. Of such simple pleasures is country life. Then there's the wandering (ie trespassing) in the surrounding fields with just the occasional trip to town to get into fights with local retailers. Also the odd writing day is interspersed with all this and a bit of book-stuff gets done.
But this last week book stuff has ganged up on the rest. First: over the border back to Wales to pick up the Pure Gold Fiction Award for Salvage (thank-you everyone in Wales who voted for it- the award was good, too with a bit of Welsh gold sandwiched inside). Then on the Wednesday there was the Lingham's party to launch Blood,etc (FINALLY- thank-you loverly Dominic from Parthian for being the acceptable face of publishing. Wirral ladies will long remember your visit). Today comes the news that Salvage has been shortlisted for the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for fiction. And people are ringing me up and emailing me to tell me I was shortlisted and to ask me if I knew yet and how did I feel.
Answers: Yes I know and Extremely gorgeous- or extremely something anyway. Words fail me. It's not a writing day.