The Clock Watcher
<p>E<strong>very morning I </strong>walk from my house to the village to buy bread. It’s become a habit more than a necessity, as I rarely get through a whole loaf in a day. Leaving me at the end of the week with a tray of stale bread that I give to the birds. Or grind down to make breadcrumbs for schnitzel — my favourite.</p>
<p>I moved to this three-bedroomed bungalow overlooking the sea in the village of Taussat in Western France six months ago after the sale of my house. The weather is half-decent without being spectacular. And with the money left over, I predict I can survive without working for about five years. Enough time to finish my novel — Ha!</p>
<p>Progress is slow. But I planned it this way. If I’d written from dawn to dust every day, I’d have finished by now. Leaving me with nothing to do for the next four and a half years. This way, by writing 500 words a day Monday to Friday, I spread it out. Plus, having never written anything before, this process gives me the best chance of writing something decent.</p>
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