Hello!

Well, goodness, what a Musings-lite January it's been!

Let's get the excuses bit out of the way first:

Huge backlog of urgent editorial work following time off with flu and prolonged bout of post-flu lethargy; dog in quarantine with kennel cough, so no incentive to march along beach taking random snaps of tbta/m/e; pathetically low (borderline zero) novel reading rate, owing to inability to stay awake in the evenings (cf post-flu lethargy above); general January-induced lack of interest in anything much at all and urge to snuggle under duvet with glass of Baileys instead of galvanising brain into coherent activity when not actually at my desk working.



Now for the apologies and thanks:

Apologies to all those who have visited Musings in recent weeks and found absolutely nothing new for ages, and most especially to those who have been kind enough to give my blog an honorable mention/link, including Martin Edwards, the Caustic Cover Critic, Leah and Rebecca, aka the Oxford Reader on Mark Thwaite's Book Depository blog - to all of whom many, many thanks.

Thanks also to all who have left comments and sent emails enquiring after my well-being and asking if/when daily offerings from the Muddy Island will resume - I have been so touched to receive your messages, which prove once again, if proof were needed, that the blogosphere is the Global Village incarnate, and full of the nicest people, and that No Woman Is An Island, even if she lives on one.

I went for a brief but hearty trudge on the beach this afternoon, in the face of the most piercing, bitter wind, and took the photos above.

So, wither Musings? For a while, I really didn't miss blogging at all - there seemed to be so many other, more important, things to worry about, both in my own life, and, more pressingly, in the lives of those around me. It's been a tough month for everyone, I fear. And earning a living, meeting deadlines for clients, and trying to dispatch finished jobs back to publishers faster than new ones arrive at my door - these are the things which have had to take priority over blogging.

But today, returning from my blustery walk, looking through my snaps, and catching up with last week's Observer (that's how far behind I am!), which was absolutely bursting with reviews of must-see films, must-read books and must-listen-to music . . . I felt a sudden whoosh of inspiration and a lifting, at last, of the old SADs. It's the last day of January. Which means that Spring is only just around the corner! (Well, almost.) And what a difference that makes.

Anyway, by way of a bit of catching up, above are a few pics from earlier in the month. I'm fascinated by the way the ebbing tide leaves such discrete, contrasting bands of colour and texture on the beach. I've no more idea of the science that lies behind this than I have of the science that lies behind anything else, and it would boggle my mind to try (I take perverse pride, even now, in having achieved an all-time low of 3% in a Physics exam when I was 14: I hope my children are not reading this!), but I delight in its aesthetic effects so much that I could happily gaze at them for hours at a time.

Also, just to prove that I have engaged with life beyond the desk and duvet, albeit very slightly, below are some photos from the London Boat Show which I hope will appeal to Chandlery Fetishists of my acquaintance.

And, finally, a compilation from Steve Tilston, whom I heard at Colchester Arts Centre a couple of weeks ago: