The British Library the other day was actually really inspiring, though I couldn't find anywhere to set up camp and write. I wandered round the gallery and saw the manuscripts of some of the best writers in English history. I saw handwritten drafts by Angela Carter, Harold Pinter, Sylvia Plath, Thomas Hardy, Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen. I got to see what Shakespeare's handwriting was (allegedly) like and discovered that my handwriting is similar to ... Nobody's! Oh well.
Perhaps I shall donate my notebooks when I'm actually a published author, though I'll have to wait til after I'm dead I think, as I'm not sure right now I could cope with people knowing that the book they (hopefully) love and treasure was once a pile of steaming crap. Ho hum.
Bloody freezing in Northampton, but what cheers me up is that I can get up after 6am tomorrow and the next day, and the day after that too. Yippee!