This is tough. Really tough. I am absolutely stuffed.  I have written two chapters in two months and my son is giving me grief because he thinks that I should rewrite them both. ‘It’s all been said and done before!’ he declared. He’s ten. And what’s worse, he’s right.

I have a ‘bestseller’ on the shelves already. Well, if you like academic text books that have a very limited market, one could call it a bestseller. Somehow I felt that writing the next Hollywood blockbuster on the back of a book about age related macular degeneration would flow naturally.  But I may have over-estimated my ability.  And sitting here with writer’s block my most recent creation has come down to the to The boy, the Dragon and the mother with HRT who all live in a tiny rural village.  Oh yes, and they have Springer called Bertie who smells really bad.  Nope, that’s not in the book, that bit’s real.

Now, it doesn’t really flow now, does it?

Perhaps I miss my time at the pool.  I was more creative when I was swimming up and down, planting my feet into ladies’ large bosomed chests as I tried to perfect my tumble turns. (Well it’s not easy looking ahead whilst swimming freestyle so I honestly never saw her).

I dare say I am indeed grieving for the recent loss of my spa membership. Lucky enough to live within spitting distance of Ragdale Hall, I used my first royalty cheque from the aforementioned bestseller, to purchase a year of luxurious swimming.   I managed to stretch it out to three years before my husband realised that the books had all sold out and that no more royalties were due.  So I reluctantly allowed my membership to naturally expire and returned home, tail between my legs with the determination that I write another book to supplement my expensive recreational habit.  I live in hope.

I do blame the new drug of course for the lack of inspiration. This HRT is indeed a good way to stop those ‘power surges,’ so aptly termed by a lovely woman I met at a recent WI lecture that I was delivering (don’t ask). But at the age of 38, I was just not ready to start taking pills to combat them. It was a all a bit too soon.  For some strange reason my body had begun to age faster than the rest of me and I was referred to our local hospital for further investigation.  So there I was one one afternoon, pushing my then one year old baby in a buggy around the Menopause clinic. I looked a tad out of place.

But that was a few years ago now.  Not that many though, so don’t go making assumptions. But following a more recent trip back to see the GP, I have recently succumbed to a little assistance in the way of some female hormones derived, apparently from a salmon. These tablets compared favourably to those derived from a cow, according to the BNF that were apparently a little on the strong side for me. However they are not improving my brain activitiy but reducing it to that of a … fish.

I was curious, and asked my trusted  GP,

‘Do you ask if patients are vegetarian or if they are allergic to fish before prescribing these drugs?’

Clearly struggling to come to terms with the fact that her choice of  female hormones to relieve my ongoing symptoms would be derived from a fish that I regularly used in a rather nice recipe for Coulibiac a la Delia.  I just couldn’t get the fact that this small fishy tablet would provide me with my get up and go hormones for the rest of my adult life.

Was I thinking about these hormones in perhaps a little more detail than my peers?  Apparently so,

‘Ah, I hadn’t thought about that,’ she replied with absolute incredulity.  She then set about wading through her BNF for something other than fish.  She was struggling to see, however, and held the book at arm’s length.  I rummaged in my handbag for small magnifier that was a freebie from a goodie bag thrust at me by a rep as I passed by a stand at a recent practitioner’s conference.

‘Try this,’ I said. ‘ It should help with the, er, onset of reading difficulties. .’

‘Ah, that’s better I can see the small print now.’  I smiled and thought, perhaps I should return to writing about macular degeneration again.  It’s a whole lot easier than taking the hormones. But then again, would my fish hormone give me a little more speed in the pool?

Well, until I return to the spa, I just won’t know.  So I had better keep writing in the vain hope of receiving another royalty cheque so that I can pay for it all in the first place.

The Boy and the Dragon with Macular Degeneration.  Here we go.  Sounds good? Now,  I’ll bet that has never been done before!