Continued...

"Good afternoon, Mr Ball." The landlady looked him up and down, not bothering to hide her disapproval of his stained work clothes and untidy appearance.

"Hello, Peter." Sara, the landlady's daughter smiled a warmer greeting. "Your usual?" She handed him a menu and started to pull a pint of beer for him.

The landlady sniffed and took one last withering look at their solitary customer. "I'll get to Oakham and do the shopping." She walked out of the front door.

Sara relaxed as her mother left the premises. "Had a good day?"

"No...Have you?" He grimaced.

"No." She burst out laughing at his doleful expression.

"It's no laughing matter, Sara. I don't know how long I can keep the shop open if there's no money coming in."

She grinned apologetically and shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry, Peter. Here, have this one on the house." She put a pint of best bitter on the bar in front of him.

The dealer took a long draught of beer and automatically reached to pick up a menu.

"Ham salad, as usual?"

He nodded.

Sara left the bar for a few minutes, returning with a plate overflowing with food. "Have you found somewhere to sit?" She stood in the centre of the room and made a show of looking around the empty bar at all the vacant tables, as if the place was full of customers.

"Here at the bar. At least I can chat to you as I eat. I haven't spoken to a living soul all bloody morning! My brain thinks my mouth is paralysed."

Sara listened politely to him as she polished the newly washed glasses and stacked them on the shelves under the counter.

"What about the vicarage then?...I see it's sold...That was a surprise." Peter spoke as he munched the ham salad.

"Ah yes! The estate agent nailed up that 'sold' sign first thing this morning. We were as surprised as you are."

He pushed his empty glass across the bar. "I'll have another pint please...How long has it been empty then? I understand it was up for sale long before I moved here."

"Nearly two years. When the last vicar died it wasn't wanted. We get a church service now about once a month when a curate comes over from Oakham."

Peter shook his head dismissively; he wasn't one for church going.

Sara understood his gesture. "Me neither. But mother goes regularly."

"Do you know who's bought it?" Peter was genuinely curious. Maybe, just maybe, there could be some business for him.

"No idea. Bit I'll tell you this. They'll have a big job on their hands, clearing the out buildings and getting it fit to live in."

"Is the house bad inside then?"

  Writers Block.

I've read about it but so far never experienced it. Yes, I do have to put my thinking cap on sometimes to find the right phrase or sentence but it usually comes. I enjoy doing the new sudoku craze but unlike writing it will pass like all crazes.

Writing is an art and like all artists you make mistakes. When you get it right though, is what makes writing so enjoyable.