So this week I have had three fairly big things to deal with, as well as a sprinkling of little things, just in case the big three wasn't distracting enough.  They're not all relevant to writing, but what the hell, I'll share anyway:

1) My husband and I finally exchanged contracts for the sale of our flat in Walthamstow and the purchase of our soon-to-be home in Malvern.  Phew.  At last.  This has taken AGES and has been pretty stressful, presumably in the same way that every house sale is stressful; essentially you're dealing with the whims and logic of other people, and in my experience other people are desperately illogical and unpredictable.  It's a wonder anyone sells a house ever, the English are so phenomenally fickle and stubborn.  Everyone I know has agreed that we should all use the same system that is in place in Scotland, but none of them are selling a house and so the impetus to make actual changes to the way this works is non-existent.  I might start a petition.  MIGHT.

2) I have been working on a pitch for BBC Radio 4.  Unfortunately an editor saw the first draft and thought that it was too predictable, so I have been wracking my brains for ways to mix it up.  Draft two tried to plant a few red herrings, but ultimately lost some of the good stuff from draft one.  Back to the drawing board to deliver by tomorrow morning.  Ha.

3) I had a birthday.  I don't stress about age - I had some trouble even remembering how old I was.  But there was present buying to be done for the twin brother, then a certain amount of celebrating to be done by me.  This wasn't stressful, just time consuming.

Ah.  The consumption of time.  Or does time consume us?  Aaah, have gone all philosophical.  I must stop that, and go all drama-doc instead - I must focus if I ever expect to get this pitch finished.