A Sit Down and a Cuppa, Part 2

Hey, I’ve got forty minutes or so to kill before I have to go and fetch Ted from nursery. Let’s have a cup of tea and a chat!

I’m quite enjoying this old-school style of blogging. Back to basics, as I’ve said numerous times. I think it proves I’m a human, rather than some kind of twisted algorithm posting random articles to try and get a little bit of engagement (not to knock past-me, but I’m pretty sure that’s how some of my posts from last year came across). A human, and a terrible rambler with one hell of a train of thought.

nfd

And, of course, it’s an excuse to sit down with a cup of something caffeinated and, in this case, an only slightly stale pain au chocolat. Far better than last time’s slightly odd-tasting cup of tea, today I have a flat white. Well, I think it’s supposed to be a flat white but it’s been sitting for a couple of minutes and the foam is a bit, well, foamy. For a flat white.

nfd

I’ll forgive them though, because I like the baristas here. This is the only coffee shop I’ve found here since we moved, this time last year, that I can actually sit down and write in. There are plenty of others, but they’re too busy, or so small that you feel obliged to buy something every ten minutes because the staff are shooting you accusing glances for taking up a table with your laptop.

I shouldn’t be drinking coffee at this time of day, really; my sleep schedule is totally erratic at the moment. Some nights I’m conking out for nine hours, others I’m lucky to get five. Ted had a couple of bad nights last week – it seems like he’s hit the stage where he’s a bit scared of the dark – but we’re so lucky with his sleeping, the odd disturbed night is a decent pay-off. We seem to have solved it by keeping his curtains open a little way, anyway… fingers crossed. Just you watch, now I’ve said that we’re probably going to have a nightmare of a night tonight.

To be honest, Ted’s occasional broken night has nothing to do with my own sleeping. These poor nights for me seem to just be my own problem; I lay awake half the night while both my boys are snoring away. One next to me, one in his bed downstairs with the curtains open so he can see the moon.

So the coffee should really be given a pass. It’s half past four in the afternoon, after all.

But oh well. I’ll stay up a bit later tonight; I’m currently equally obsessed with Cities: Skylines and The Sims 4, so I can amuse myself with that. Plus I have some writer-related plans that I need to think through, and possibly train-of-thought out to myself, that I should probably divert some time towards. Big things are (potentially) coming, and I’m excited for them. Big things involving Bisous, Tilly. But it’s too soon to get into them just yet.

Ooh, look at me, all mysterious.

As if I have a mysterious bone in my body.

Probably the biggest thing that’s happened since the last time I did one of these little chats is… THE BEAN JAR IS OUT.

Oh yeah, actually out in public. Where humans can read it. I had a little freak out when it first went live, and to be honest, I’m still freaking out. Actual real people can read my book. People who don’t even know me; people who don’t love me enough to pretend it’s any good.

Frankly, it’s bloody terrifying.

Terrifying, yet I’m also itching to hear what people think. It doesn’t have any reviews yet, and I’d love to see some. Reviews are the bread and butter of every author, of course, we’re all narcissists who love to hear nice things. And bad things. Even though it might hurt. Attention-seekers, the lot of us. I’m waiting with bated breath over here.

Oh, this coffee is rather strong. This may have been a very very bad idea.

It looks like my Sims are going to be getting some great progression in their lives tonight. And I might actually watch the documentary about Humpback whales I’ve been meaning to watch since Friday. See, my life is just fascinating, isn’t it?

I just drifted off for several minutes to stare mindlessly at my phone, as I am wont to do, so I think I shall slug back my coffee and actually go to pick up my son. I’m sure he’s had a lovely day of drawing and painting with his friend, and eating a picnic. Note: wholesome and lovely as that sounds, he’s probably not done that. But it’s his stock answer whenever I ask him what he’s done at nursery. Bless his two-year-old soul.

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