I became a connoisseur of that nasty thud a manuscript makes when it comes through the letter box.
If a farmer calls me to a sick animal, he couldn't care less if I were George Bernard Shaw.
For years I used to bore my wife over lunch with stories about funny incidents.
It was Sunday morning (one a.m.), a not unusual time for some farmers, after a late Saturday night, to have a look round their stock and decide to send for the vet.
I will write another book if I feel like it.
They can't find my house now because I keep it very quiet where I live.
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