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. . .
She wrote in a kind of haze. At some stage the washing machine had finished its cycle and she kept reminding herself that she must get the washing out and hang it to dry. Trouble was, she kept thinking to do that right in the middle of an interesting scene. "I'll do it at the end of the paragraph," she kept telling herself, and when that paragrpah ended, there was another one to write. Worse than that, the radio seemed to be playing all Sixties songs that morning. The Monkees did Tapioca Tundra, the Cowsills sang The Rain, the Park and Other Things, the Beatles did Blackbird.
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