I’ve been on an unexpected and unplanned hiatus. I was only a mere week or so away from publishing my new novel and was feeling very excited accordingly. And then, out of the blue, I get a dose of pneumonia and end up hospitalised with tubes in (almost) every orifice and as weak as the proverbial baby cat. That was three weeks ago and fast forward to now. There has been a tremendous amount of bed rest and recuperation and that beautiful wife of mine has been quite the most perfect Florence Nightingale I could possibly wish for. I’m still weak and very breathless (as I write I’m waiting for a prescription for an inhaler) and I’ve done very little creatively in that time. It’s just been a case of getting my body back to some kind of place were I can write again.

Well, today is that day – I’ve fired up the laptop at last. Poor thing hasn’t seen the light of day for almost a month and had to be gently coaxed and soothed into working like a nervous rescued dog. It feels good though to be back at the old coal face once more. I’ve been working on the novel all morning, adding a few final amendments and then I thought I’d best churn out a quick blog post. And here we are. This afternoon I embark on the final proof read, the artwork is all done and has gone to be digitised and with a fair wind behind me I reckon I might be able to publish within a week or so. In fact, there’s a renewed, almost manic like fervour in me to get it done. Or should that be – a new mania! (Groan)

Watch this space.

‘Oh wow!’ ‘Jammy git!’ ‘Lucky bas- so and so!’

Just a few of the oft heard phrases I receive when I tell people I live on a narrowboat. And to a certain degree I lap it up. Like the times when it’s blazing sunshine and clear cobalt skies and my wife and I are in some secluded spot somewhere along the canal with a bottle of malbec sat between us and a view to die for all around. Yes! Then I am a lucky bastard.

But, fast forward a few months into December and ask me then how many lucky stars I’m counting. Ask me then about frozen water tanks and equally frozen gas bottles. Ask me then about falling on my arse trying to get off the boat in the ice and snow. Ask me then about being covered in coal dust after trying to light a fire in minus temperatures at seven in the morning as my breath comes out in sheets and my fingers go on strike due to the cold (my feet are ok because I slept with my socks on). Ask me then about emptying a plastic chemical toilet on a frosty night in a disgusting Elsan building that reeks like charnel house with the heating on full blast and no ventilation when my land living friends are casually flushing their porcelain Thomas Crappers with carefree, Toilet Duck fragranced abandon. Still think I’m so lucky? Thought not.

And that’s the boating reality folks. It ain’t all about roses and castles or Rosie and Jim (how I despise the pair of them). Cruising in the Summer is fun but just remember that Summer don’t last that long. Winter, in the UK tends to last a whole lot longer. But it’s my choice right? I made the decision to live afloat so maybe I should just shut up and stop complaining. Actually no, I’m still going to complain (it’s part of being British after all). You see, I knew what I was getting into before I got into it and despite the things that all boaters grumble about – fire, toilets, gas, water etc etc – I still love it. I mean, living in a house comes with it’s own set of particular problems. For example: I have no lawn to mow nor loft to lag nor boiler to explode and send a biblical torrent of water into the cellar (this happened to me). My life is far more simplistic and in many ways easier (except for the Elsan).

What I am finding difficult at times is writing, especially during this Covid pandemic and lockdown. Space is an issue you see. My charming and beautiful wife, Ange, works for the local council and as such now works from home and has done since March last year. For a while I worked outside, on the mooring, as she has many phone calls to make and needs privacy. That was fine during the rather good Summer we had last year. Over Winter, it’s not been so ideal and we’ve had to come up with a few counter measures so that we can both work in the cramped conditions of the boat and be productive. Firstly, we bought a folding picnic table which is big enough to allow us both the space we need to work, eat and of an evening put feet up on. Secondly we have bought a pair of industrial strength ear defenders for me to wear when Ange is making those phone calls. They muffle beautifully. Thirdly we have a veritable tagliatelle of cables criss-crossing between us to provide enough power for laptops, phones, tablets, lamps, fans and whatnot. And so far, it works.

And you thought being an author was glamorous. Nah!

For the last 17 years I have had a constant travelling companion on my journey through life. I don’t like him very much as he tends to get in the way a lot of the time and stops me from doing the things I love the most; spending quality time with my lovely wife and of course writing. What’s worse is that I’m addicted to both of those things so when my travelling companion raises his butt-ugly head for a sneer and to pull the rug from under my feet I get rather narked. His name? Fibromyalgia.

If you haven’t heard of fibromyalgia I’ll give you a quick medical lesson. It’s a common bedfellow of M.E and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome whereby it leaves you exhausted after very little exertion but it also comes with the added bonus of tremendous pain in the neck, shoulders, back, arms and legs. In addition he also brings on the most horrendous brain fog imaginable and terrible restless leg syndrome. A horrible little toe-rag he is but I’m stuck with him.

For example: I started my new novel The Ph… oops, almost gave the title away there; ahem, my new novel, on the 14^th July last year. Now considering that I want to write Monday to Friday and that my average daily word count is about 2000 words (all I can do really) then the first draft should have been finished by the end of September at the latest. And yet, here we are, into February 2021 and I’ve only just finished it. And the reason it has taken so long is my fiend Fibro (see what I did there?) keeps getting in my way and stopping me for lengthy spells.

Fibro first came into my life following a severe viral infection in 2003. Long story short; the virus nearly killed me and messed up my heart, my brain and left me with a generous dose of the aforementioned muscle condition. Over the years Fibro has varied in intensity. At times I’ve been able to hold down a job for a short while. At others I’ve been bed-ridden for days on end with little strength, no energy and in quite the most remarkable pain. He never lets up though. Even on a ‘good’ day or when I’ve been working he’s always there in the background gnawing away at me with his diamond tipped teeth.

I’ll say just one good thing for him though. He’s taught me patience and the ability to just let things go and pick them up at a later date. There was a time when I would have hated the thought of doing virtually nothing during the course of a whole day. Now, I’ve learned to be at peace, to accept my lot and look forward to tomorrow when, hopefully, he’ll go a bit easier with me. The b*****d!