Kia ora tatou (as us woke lefties say in Aotearoa/New Zealand)
Its a long while since I finished the Uncle Frank series, and I was happily exploring what I could do with pitfiring porcelain, fishing and diving, facilitating menz workshops, and wondering what to write next. Then I developed myalgia rheumatica - swollen painful joints, no grip strength, living from dose to dose of painkillers. Shit! Got rid of my big trailer boat and sold my diving gear. Grieved for a while, but eventually got the myalgia under control with steroids.
At this point, I was almost ready to start writing again, when my local Council's tight budget caught up with me. The council can't afford to maintain their culverts and the one under the road above our place had been reduced from 2ft diameter to 6 inches by roots growing through cracks in the pipe. We had some heavy rain, the culvert couldn't cope, and a torrent of water with silt and cattle feces flowed over the road, scoured out our driveway, dumped 25 cu ft of gravel on our patio, and flowed under our doors and through evey room in our house, ruining all out furniture, appliances, flooring, skirting and drywall. The house has now been gutted, and we are in temporary accommodation. They say we will be lucky to be back in our place until mid January. I'll try to get back into writing then.