The weight of the world...

Sorry I haven't written much lately. My poor friend died at the weekend, the one who had been in hospital since the start of July. He was only 55 and it's a real tragedy, especially for his family, but he was well loved by so many friends and colleagues, too. The funeral is on October 2nd.

I am also battling against two impossible deadlines and keep bursting into tears. My book has to be completed by October 12th in time for the Frankfurt Book Fair but the publisher (a very big one) is refusing to give me a contract until they've seen the reaction at the Fair. I'm not even halfway through and am working day and night and it is meant to be light-hearted, sexy and amusing and I'm just NOT IN THE BLOODY MOOD!!!

Especially as I have come up against an impasse in the form of a certain well-known building society. It took me ages but I finally managed to find someone to give me a mortgage at my grand old age. I needed it to buy a flat I'd seen which was in the right block, the right place, on the right floor (the top one), with a view and a south-facing balcony. So... I got the offer but then they sent an email asking for proof that I'd got the money. Last time I was going to buy somewhere, it took me two days to get the passwords on six different online accounts to work. I had to ring up, ask for help, and eventually I managed to print out my statements.

I still had them, so I scanned them all, having to wait till Mr Grumpy was out, as I don't at this stage want him to know about it, and emailed them off. Well, I've just had a call to say they can't accept them because my name is not on the same page as the amount. Sorry, that's the way the websites work! My name is on the Welcome page, then you key in your password and eventually you get your statement on a different page, but not your name. They declined another because the printer had missed http:// off. I ask you! And they want everything by next Friday or I have lost the mortgage offer.

There is no way in which I can both write the book and spend hours fiddling with internet accounts and having to wait till Mr G goes out so I can scan them. The reason I don't want him to know is the scorn he pours on my head every time a purchase falls though. He scoffs, he sneers, he reduces me to tears. So this time I want to be able to present it as a fait accompli.

Now it looks as though I shall have to give up the perfect flat in order to finish the book... which I may not even get a contract for at the end of the day. But when it comes down to it, my writing career has to come before finding a home. But oh, the thought of a seventh freezing cold winter here is unbearable. Last year I told him that if I spent another winter here, it would kill me! How do I get into these situations? I think I must have done a lot of very bad things in my previous existence.