In my study, comfortable in my favourite armchair, low music playing, I ponder the issue of my depressed mermaid.
But I don’t have an answer. The root of the problem is that Charlotte wants another child, and on this occasion, that’s in Michael’s hands.
What can I do to help?
Not much…
Might as well get on with some work…
It’s beastly hot, making it hard to think straight. Opening the window doesn’t help; the air coming in is hotter than what’s already inside. A glass of iced water does.
Switching on my desk fan, I set it to high, positioning it to blow across my armchair then, clipboard in hand, settle to sketch out a few ideas…
But the ideas won’t come. Normally, when I work like this, freeing my mind, my hands do my thinking for me. But this time, worry gnaws, and inspiration es
