Entry for July 17, 2007

I am writing this on the train as I trundle across beautiful Fife countryside. One of the advantages of having a father who works in the golf trade is that I can generally cadge some free tickets to the British Open when it’s in Scotland. So I have indulged myself in a first class train ticket (free biscuits and coffee; no neds) and tomorrow you will find me in one of two places – on the fairways of Carnoustie or in the beer tent.
The train trip is a leisurely three and a half hours, so I’ve been able to do a bit of work on the book on the way – the second of the two major sections is now in fair draft and the third isn’t far away. Any more progress and I will be in serious danger of finishing the thing, and that will never do.
I’ve even managed to read a bit of a real book. Yes! Read! I vaguely remember that from the days before the Small Bald Person arrived. It seems that for the past year, the most stimulating material I’ve had a chance to read is the ingredients on the Cheerios packet. Even then, I’m generally interrupted four times before I reach Riboflavin.
I feel civilised and human and happy tonight.