I’ve noticed that now I’ve switched to Windows 10, the times in the chapter titles (eg 08.00 – 08.45 below) are suddenly being treated as hyperlinks. I can only apologise and say that this has nothing to do with me, it’s being done automatically when I publish each post. I would caution readers against clicking on them, as I haven’t a clue where they lead.
Ironically, the example of times in the warning above has also been published as a hyperlink. I’d say, don’t click on that one either.
Tuesday 5th November 1985: 08.00 – 08.45
Kevin Proctor buttered a slice of toast and contemplated the day he had in front of him.
Nine-thirty ay-em, arrive at office and try not to stare open-mouthed at Sally Evans’s blouse, which would be white, pristine, and ever-so-slightly see-through.
Nine-thirty-one ay-em, receive first phone call of the day from HL Danvers chasing up news of the nine manuscripts – fuel for this evening’s Guy Fawkes celebrations, each and every one of them – she currently had cluttering up his desk.
Ten-fifteen-or-thereabouts ay-em, finally manage to get off the phone from HL Danvers, and stagger out of his office to find solace in Sally’s presence and a large mug of coffee.
Ten-sixteen ay-em, receive first withering look of the day from Sally for something he said, or did, or didn’t say, or didn’t do. Or something.
Ten-twenty-five-or-so ay-em, repair back to his office to settle down with the ms from the new author, which he was actually looking forward to reading, if only he had some peace to do so…
…He glanced at the envelope the weird old woman had thrust at him the previous evening. He hadn’t had the oomph to so much as ungum the flap when he’d got home after all the shenanigans in Diamond Crescent. He had the oddest feeling, though, that the contents and the new author’s ms weren’t entirely unconnected…
Another one minute later ay-em, receive second phone call of the day from HL Danvers, apprising him of the three new lots of bonfire fuel winging their way towards him via the postal service this morning.
Ten-forty ay-em-ish, Sally brings in three new HL Danvers manuscripts while he, Kevin, is still trying to extricate himself from second phone call.
Eleven-ten ay-em, finally find a way to politely hang up on HL Danvers, and stagger out of office to get another coffee.
Eleven-eleven ay-em, receive second, or third, or possibly ninth withering look from Sally.
Eleven-twenty ay-em-or-thereabouts, back to office to settle down again with ms from new author.
Eleven-twenty-one ay-em, receive third…
He sighed, and buttered himself another slice of toast. And so the day – and, in fact, the week – would wear on. And on. And on.