It is a month later. Many things have occurred. Many things have not. I’m back now, in all the important ways. To mark that I’m giving away free kindle copies of The Flesh Remembers today and tomorrow (Monday and Tuesday). Click through the cover and get it while you can.
So if I’m giving away copies of The Flesh Remembers again, does that mean that the sequel is just around the corner?
I couldn’t possibly say.
Well, I could. I’m just not going to.
All things writing have been delayed these last few weeks. While I wasn’t wrong in the amount of time I’d have in which to write, I was completely wrong about how much energy I’d have in the tank during those windows. It turns out that relocating 4287 miles is quite… draining.
June has looked like this:
We packed the last of our things into the car on a Wednesday morning in Delhi, locked up the apartment that we’ve borrowed for the last few years, and made out for the airport. Perhaps because it was our last journey in India I somehow saw only the things that I’ve managed to stop myself from seeing since 2009. Naked children at the edge of the road. Rubble and filth amidst the lush green trees. Men urinating in the street…
Lots of urinating actually. We were ushered from the city via 21-Urine salute. I sometimes wonder if it’s just me. Perhaps I’ve been unwelcome all this time. Maybe it is only my specific presence which causes men in India to pull forth their penises and spray urine all about them in a sort of territorial display. I hope so. I’d hate to think that this was what India wished all visitors to see.
Seconds before we got into the car my daughter hared off along the edge of our building in chase of a mother duck and her recent hatchlings who were waddling across the end of our road. We’ve never seen any ducks in our area before, yet there they were, glimpsed and then gone from our lives.
They made me feel like Tony Soprano. Given how feeling like Tony Soprano worked out for Tony Soprano, I’m a little concerned.
After many hours and a brief stop to change planes at Dubai we flew into Glasgow over green hills banked with mist and rain. It was June and it was wet. I grinned all the way down. My wife got tearful. It was the exact opposite of the baking, forty degree heat of Delhi, and it felt instantly right.
Welcome home, said Glasgow.
Now bloody well paint me, it added quietly, and thus vanished the rest of June.
The painting in question has been located mostly in the ground floor of our new house, which we actually bought this time last year but which we’re only now moving into (because… you know… India…). While it is a very splendid house, full of potential, small children have been allowed to draw on it by the previous owners. They also decided that it would look particularly splendid in shades of grey and beige. This is not acceptable. So began the painting.
Other jobs have happened too. Godawful carpets were ripped up and floorboards sanded and varnished. Curtain rails were hung. Furniture was shuffled from a place to a slightly different nearby place. Grass was cut (with shears, initially, because our lawnmower took one look at it and ran away).
Mostly painting though. And some wallpapering. My wife dealt with the pressure of this through the medium of swearing. I chose the alternative method of renaming colours of paint depending on whim. You can paint with far greater serenity if you decide that you are spreading Dusty Frottage all over the living room wall, or applying a Steely Twerk (pictured above) to the bedroom.
Top tip, for reelz.
And now June ends, and I feel like I’ve barely touched a computer. I have correspondence and other stuff coming out of my ears, and buckets of writing to catch up with. This has become more urgent than ever, as I’ll explain on Friday.
With the house now coloured in shades of very mild acts of obscenity I can hopefully salvage some of my upcoming days to Get Things Done.
The Glasgow reboot is almost complete.
And don’t forget – The Flesh Remembers, free on Kindle until an arbitrary time tomorrow. Go to it!