Clive and Min

You remember I started writing an idea for a novel called 'Clive and Min'? What do you mean, you don't?? Good grief, what sort of house guests are you???

(And talking of house guests, a very warm welcome to our two new genteel ladies - I have charged Primrose and Daisy with turning down the linen in the Lady Catherine de Bourgh wing ready for your stay. I have also told them they are NOT to lay a single beak on the complementary homemade lavender shortbreads.)

Back to Clive and Min. Well, I forgive you if you have forgotten because it was a while ago and whilst I steamed ahead with the opening few thousand words, my writing ran out of aforesaid steam (as those of you who are writers know 'tis wont to do, and usually when you get to a really exciting bit) and Clive and Min were left to wallow in my computer file marked 'Novels' until last Saturday when I had a sudden crack-of-dawn writing urge, dug it out and continued apace.

And one thing that came to light was that Clive (who is now deceased - his fault, he is basically an idiot) was a leading light in the local light operatic society. Which is very keen on Gilbert and Sullivan operettas.

Now, normally I could cope with this kind of plot turn, because it would be what I call a side detail that I could manage by a quick spot of research into a few G and S works, listening to Andy sing a few of the songs in the shower which he does very well, and all would be dealt with just so. I certainly wouldn't have to get right into understanding the whole operetta shenanigans in the manner of becoming obsessed by it all like, oh, some people are obsessed with Doctor Who. (My money is on Miss Piggy as the next Doctor.)

However, it transpires that the operatic society are going to organise Clive's funeral, and this means that they are going to play a fairly major role in the novel itself. I mean, Min wouldn't trust any old Tom, Dick or Nanki Poo to organise her brother's funeral, would she? (Well, actually, I think she might if it weren't for the fact she  is a character who likes to avoid gossip).

Which means I have to immerse myself in the works of Gilbert and Sullivan, and somehow work them in to a novel which started out, and continues to be, a murder mystery. Which as those of you who DO remember my initial ramblings about Clive and Min is another stumbling point because I am not a murder mystery officianado either. (Although I am becoming very interested in psychology, something I've been studying a lot for a couple of months now.)

Talk about making life difficult for oneself.

So whilst I ponder the enormous writerly hole into which I have dug myself, I shall also share another little mystery I stumbled upon today - that whilst giving my grey nay almost white locks a brush this morning, I found a hair that was white at the flailing in the wind end and dark brown at the growing end! Which means that this little hair started out with no pigment aka white, and somehow in its growing life, started to grow brown again! 

Just think, if my hair suddenly managed to recolour itself through some mysterious natural method I could be carrying a scientific research fortune around on my head! 

Now there's a thought!