Firstly, in case all you benighted Sassenachs out there didn't know, the 30th of November was St Andrew's Day (I didn't until I heard it on the radio). Why do people make a fuss over St Paddock's and even St Gorge's Days, but neglect St Android's? Perhaps it's because we Scots are a quiet, unassuming, self-effacing race of people.
Hedgehog waits patiently for agent M to respond: it's now Saturday, and a considerable number of days after the submission of sample chapters and other details. Did it ever get there? Has it been summarily junked on receipt? Is it just at the bottom of a large pile somewhere?
If I write again, asking what's happened, will it be too son? If I don't, how long should I wait before assuming it's down the tubes? Hmm.
On some other fronts, Christmas and all its attendant tasks is approaching like a steam train. Is there time to get all the presents, send the cards, and redecorate the hall, stairs and landing? (More of the decoration saga anon)
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