Daisy's chickens rule (the roost)!

Finally managed to interview Daisy about her fantastic chickens – specifically about how she devises their little story lines. The whole feature is meant to sit in the About Writing section of bloc so hopefully it meets the criteria, as it'd be brilliant, if as an off-shoot, she gets some publicity out of all this. Her website is fab (www.orpingtonbuffs.co.uk)
probably worth the £500 she paid for it.

So tempting to be gently, and mindlessly sewing as one of Daisy's helpers, rather than having to endure this hard slog of writing. Probably where I'll end up when I've finished the course anyway.

I was far from productive this morning though, making the possibility that I even finish it, slim.
Made porridge for the kids' breakfast with powdered milk, as we'd run out, and I couldn't face getting dressed to go out in the freezing cold, to buy some from the shop. Tasted pretty foul, but at least they ate it. Eventually had to venture out though as desperate for a cup of tea, and wasn't prepared to use the powdered milk for that. Grabbed a Cornishman at the same time to have a squiz at the cars for sale.

The verdict from Heidi's mechanic friend, when I'd rung up earlier re repairing the Escort, was somewhere in the region of £3-400, and that I'd probably be better off scrapping it. Great. Looking in the classifieds there were a few tempting diesel cars on offer, but in the end, I couldn't cope with the decision-making, so have (probably incredibly foolishly) agreed to take the Renault. Why? I don't know. It's old, it leaks, it's petrol, and it's tiny. Expect it'll fuck up in next to no time and I'll be back to square one. Cars. Bloody nightmare. Hopefully, by paying 'the boys' for this job, Graham'll be prepared to let me have the Escort back up on his land again, to be assessed ,and possibly revived, at a later date. (I imagine he'd be less willing if I'd pissed him off on this occasion).

So have booked the friggin' Renault in for an MOT 11.30am Weds. Which was the earliest slot they had available. Means I'll have to cycle out to Graham's in the morning to collect the ruddy thing. Hope it's warmed up a bit by then as it's so incredibly bitter right now – like being plunged back into winter.

Having pfaffed about for most of the morning, I finally sat down to work out what college stuff I should be getting on with, deciding to write a letter to Eddie for the Guardian 'A letter to...' section in the vain hope that it might be accepted to be published (and so earn me £70), with the possibility of also using it for bloc, given it's tenuous teenage link. If nothing else, I'll be able to give it to me lad some day – maybe when he's about to fly the coop (chicken's on the brain).

Joined Daisy and Wendy this evening to watch a bizarre Spanish film called Play. Wasn't the hilarious rom-com I'd been led to believe – far too arty – but perhaps that's a blessed relief given my fragile emotional state right now. Had a phone call from Emma at the Acorn earlier to say that she was going to tell Beth not to bother coming into work this Friday – Ed and I will be able to cover it, and if it gets busy, Wendy will step in to help. Bittersweet taste of revenge, yes. But more importantly, really appreciated the feeling of solidarity. They're on my side, and not best pleased with the way a certain young lady has been behaving. She may not get the sack exactly, but maybe she'll get the hint.

2.22am. Wish I had my book. Maddening to finally be in a position where I've got a bit more spare time to read, and my book's stuck out at Heidi's. Typical.