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Gail-in-Jems

Gail and Me in My Office

A Day in The Life of…

I’ve broken my pledge to write a blog diary post every day already, and feel pretty bad about it, but it all started because I had to stay up until four a.m. to talk to the US IRS on Monday. That threw me out for three days.

It meant I didn’t get up until late on Tuesday, so didn’t get my daily writing quota done. (For those who don’t know, I started the sequel to ‘Dead Centre’ on the first of February, and have set my target at 3,500 unedited words a day. How much of that will be cut out in editing is anyone’s guess).

I was getting back on top yesterday, when I was told that a friend, Thomas from Germany, had come over for his annual holidays, so I walked up the other end of the village to where his mother-in-law lives.

I lost five hours’ writing yesterday, and today I was doing well, until I went to Jem’s shop where I do most of my writing in the open air over a beer and a friend turned up for a chat. The result was another two hours lost,

Now, you may be thinking that this is a usual occurrence with me, but I can assure you that it is not. The last time I had to phone the IRS was two years ago, the last time I saw my German friend was a year ago, and the last time that Davy came around was a week ago.

I am still 2,500 words down as I am writing this, but I have taken time off to write to you.

Next week, I have to go to Nan, in Nan Province, to renew my twelve-month visa, and that will ensure I lose another day’s writing, but again, it only happens once a year.

I don’t remember whether I told you she had been ill, but Gail, our five-month-old granddaughter who lives with us, seems to be over her bout of the sniffles. She is the first child I have lived with since I was eight, so I have a lot to learn, but luckily my wife is a natural and copes without much help from me, except my understanding when everything happens late.

You may be wondering why we have our granddaughter, and I wouldn’t blame you, especially when I say that it could easily be for the next eighteen years, but the explanation is quite simple – tradition.

Traditionally, parents in Thailand give their offspring to their parents to bring up so that they can work all the hours that God gives to pay for them. Our granddaughter’s parents work in Bangkok, 600 km away.

I saw my first mouse ever in Thailand yesterday. It was dead, flat on the garden path. Since I’m sure that it would have escaped the wheels of my wife’s motorbike if it had been alive before it was squashed, I can only surmise that our dog, Angun, put it there for us to admire.

She’s a funny dog, she kills every other animal that tries to share her turf with her. She even guards her airspace, leaping up at birds and even butterflies.

Is that not odd, or what?

All the best,

+Owen Jones

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