So I finished the book I've been working on for five years, on and off. I finally gave it my undivided attention which meant I dropped a lot of other thing to concentrate on it. Now I have to pay for my neglect of the other things, including my blog. Oh dear. But you know, I suspected, for a while, that the blog would replace or be a substitute for my diary, but that hasn't happened. Even while neglecting the blog I did not fail to connect with my diary. It's a banal bit of communication, partly with myself but mostly with my late husband. We always went over the day to come over coffee before we parted, and recapped the day that was over a drink or coffee when we were together again. The diary has become my (very dull) record of what's going on. Once in a while I have an insight, but that usually goes somewhere else. I think all the diary does now is keep my finger on my daily pulse. Deathless prose it's not. Delicious gossip and secrets it's not. Well, maybe a few delicious secrets but that was years ago. I'm transparent now, in fact, if I were any more transparent I'd be invisible. I've been scribbling a few notes about things I'd like to explore or expand in future blogs. So I won't run out of things to say. It's just that sometimesI run out of time.