As the floodwaters of Gloucestershire and Worcestershire recede and there is at least temporary cause for general rejoicing, it seems trifling to mention that my creative juice is not exactly in spate today. Hence my fiddling about doing this when I should be doing something to earn a crust. Which reminds me that I should be thankful for making a living at all at this game. And at least Ive managed to put Hampstead Theatre in touch with Harper Collins about a Christmas production of a dramatised version of Little Wolf’s Book of Badness.
The layouts for the Harry after next are ready for Adrian Reynolds to contemplate. That’s something. And Macmillan sent US and Italian editions of Bella Gets her Skates On this morning (to add to the Finnish and Welsh translations) so that cheered me up. That little story was kick-started by a visit to the National Gallery in Edinbugh where I admired in the flesh that often-Christmas-carded and exhilarating painting of the skating vicar by Raeburn. Can’t think of the title – hang on – ah… it’s called The Skating Minister… according to the National Gallery site that I have this moment checked out. Rosie Reeve, the illustrator of Bella, has included a small rabitty homage to this in the charming spread where our heroine plucks up the courage to take to the ice. You are one of a minute number of people to know that.
But does anybody care? Sob.