Cold Hands, warm heart

Life is settling down again. The excitement levels reached recently about the results for my book on Kindle have now subsided and I’m back to doing little jobs around the house and garden. Today it was the turn of the pool. Trouble with having a swimming pool is you have to clean it, and putting your hands in freezing water to connect the vacuum hose isn’t funny. I know, serves me right for having a pool, but when you live in sunny Spain, it’s a must. Some people prefer golf to swimming, and spend a great deal of time (and money) on the golf courses. Not being a golfer I don’t have that problem. But we were over at Allende Golf Course on Friday having lunch with two friends of ours from church. They spend their winters out here playing golf about three times a week. It’s a great way of keeping fit for people who are pushing on a bit. Our friends are both in their sixties, but look good for it. Perhaps I should have taken up golf years ago.
There was an interesting, and somewhat remarkable headline in the Daily Mail on Saturday. It was a reference to Hitler having a love-child: true or not? The title of my latest novel, THE BOY FROM BERLIN provides a connection between that headline and my story. All I need to do is capitalise on the claim that Hitler did more than just wipe out millions of people. Trouble is; how do I go about that? I did contact a literary editor and the journalist who penned the story. Perhaps something will come of that, but I’m not holding my breath.
I’m beginning to think about the next of my hardbacks to put on Amazon as a paperback and Kindle. It looks like it will be THE EAGLE’S COVENANT. I’m giving a great deal of thought to the design of the book jacket which my son Terry will produce for me. He’s done three so far and each one has been brilliant. I think it’s a truism that an eye catching book jacket goes a long way to selling a book. Mustn’t say too much or else my boy will be claiming a share of the royalties.
We’re going ten pin bowling this afternoon with our church. It’s always a laugh. The days are gone when I could run and hurl a bowling ball down the lane (runway?) because of my hip. Now I walk to the throwing point, bowl the ball and watch a handful of pins fall down. No strikes, no spares. Oh my oh my, how the days of my youth remind me of what used to be. Never mind, God is good to me and Pat and we still have our health and (I nearly said strength) our faculties. I’ll let you know how I got on later.