When, dear fellows of the forum, you are hard at it, writing the latest sizzler and cogitating the next phrase which depicts the feeling dear old Nap Bonny had when he realised that the first snows of winter were upon him whilst on a junket to Moscow and still no sight of the dastardly, cunning Russian army. ‘He must have been a trifle miffed’, you think. However, just before you can commit this wondrous insight to paper, as it were, the wife/husband shimmies in armed with a hoover and proceeds to make a damned nuisance of themselves with the suction end. You are catapulted away immediately from the Russian steppes. All thoughts of Bonny’s plight are sucked up into a bag and torn asunder.
The above example is only one of the many intrusions the helpless writer has to endure during the course of epic penmanship. Others, like shopping for life’s necessities, tobacco and single malt whiskey can be planned according to ones whim, or sobriety but not the bloody hoovering.
If you find this hoovering business resonates within you, don’t despair, I have found the perfect answer. Whilst the memsahib was away visiting somewhere, Crab Nebula I think, I managed to cover the floor ankle deep with ash and empty whiskey bottles, leaving only a narrow passage to extricate myself when needed. The better half, upon returning from her intergalactic sojourn, went berserk and vowed never to enter my hermitage ever again.
This method has, of course has it’s imperfections. But if you know of a better way please let us know.