27th November 1958
In January acting on my doctor's instructions I admitted myself into a local hospital My doctor had advised me to expect an overnight stay As things turned out I was in there for over eight months For most of my time in Airedale General I was bed-ridden and virtually paralyzed although my brain kept on working as normal as normal as it ever was anyway hours a day is a long time to spend staring at a ceiling My arms hands didn't work enough to pick up a book and my laptop was gathering dust beside my bed Apart from bickering with nurses and care workers I had nothing to do So I wrote a novel inside my head Heather Hunter was intended to be a bit player in that novel She was one of the main character's many girlfriends and quite frankly not very nice Prototype Heather was early twenties and good-looking but spoilt Her father was a businessman who had bought a bit of farmland and funded a barn conversion In his opinion that gave him the right to don green wellies and call himself a farmer Father did of course overindulge his beloved daughter and she duly milked it to the full Little did she know her only reason for being was to end up as one of my murder victims Back in Airedale General I began to slowly recover The carers could get me out of bed for short periods Then longer periods Then all day I still struggled to turn book pages but I could tap away at a keyboard in an awkward sort of a way Things were definitely looking up One sunny August evening I felt the urge to record my mental novel I had written before and knew I should start with
All sports, particularly football (meaning soccer), rugby (both codes), cricket, golf and tennis. And every year I set out with great hopes for the Oakland Raiders, who I first saw on TV winning the Superbowl in 1981. Needless to report, I usually end up disappointed.