Writing-wise, I’m in 1861 and back at Hartslove. So many people ask what happened to the de Granvilles that I began to wonder too. The other night, in a rare moment of sleep, I found myself dreaming about them, and my dream got muddled up with this horse, who won the Derby for my family in 1861. As it happens, in 1861 the de Granvilles are facing a crisis: Charles Granville (they felt it wise to lose the ‘de’ during the French Revolution) has returned from war in the east with a taste for brandy, and his children are faced with the loss of their home. Hartslove itself is falling apart. But in the midst of it all, Charles buys a horse – this horse. Isn’t he a dear! He looks so surprised by life. I have him as on my desktop as I write. He’s called The One, because everybody who buys a racehorse hopes it’s The One …
When I’m not in 1861, I find it’s Christmas again, and through the magnificent Spotify I can listen to whatever carols I want, with the advertisements reminding me that consumerism (and complaining about it) has become as traditional as the manger. I had better get cracking on the shopping. Today, the day of the annual church carol concert, we have snow in Glasgow. Blackberry, now 2, and Crumble (picture is rather old, must take another, but I do love this one) are in heaven.
Paradise Red, the last of the Perfect Fire trilogy, has had lovely reviews and I’ve finished Spy’s Song, about a girl who finds herself caught up in an adventure with a squire hiding a secret, an alchemist who’s made a promise and Geoffrey Chaucer, whose history is surprising.
My katharinegrant.com website appears to have been hacked into by Iranians. I’ve nothing at all against Iranians, so I don’t quite know what they’ve got against me. Hey, hacker, if you’re reading this, can I have my site back?
I’ve resolved in the past to be a better blogger. I’m resolving again. I Shall Be a Better Blogger.