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Ready for Kent

Another  excursion, this time in celebration of a 70th birthday in the family.  I am taking my good camera, so doubtless rain will descend the moment we step out of town. Still, I have lovely memories of Ashford - last time we were there, we met a zulu prince over guinness, pies and the history of the Martini Henry.

I am being very remiss in dealing with Mark's writing, because there is so much of it and because I am a bit low on energy. The novel he wanted me to finish may - I am not sure yet -  actually be stronger as the short story from which he developed it.  And he has a massive amount of work. I am at a slight loss as to what to do, but increasingly an omnibus edition, a collection of all his writings excepting The Magonia Stone, seems the most practical way to bring it to public attention.

Silly amounts to do today but still very tired. It occurs to me that this entry could not be less aptly named; clearly I am not ready for Kent. I am still exhausted and on my fourth cup of coffee. I honestly think the combination of exasperation with Mum and parties outside my hotel in the Plaza Del Carmen knackered me more than I realise. So I allow myself one more half hour, in which I will whitter on.

Here then, is a place I have always wanted to buy in Granada.
It overlooks the plaza, but is on the corner of what seems to be '[...]Delgado' (I always forget to check when I'm there) but has a totally different name on the city maps. I like it because it seems just the perfect place for the Master to have hidden once he finally got over the Doctor. Plus, he could have handled the parties outside with far more stamina and aplomb than I could.

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