Chopping onions with Ted S.

It’s an honour to chop onions and garlic with Ted Simon, share a glass of wine, no, sorry, meant, have separate glasses of wine!…and chat about farms and France and certain viruses and other contagious stuff. He kindly offered his attic room, so I could ‘self-isolate’ and get on with re-writing what has already been written. All was going well until today. A friend sent the following, by Ernest Hemingway, I guess to cheer me up, or perhaps support, or simply take the piss or maybe even have me depressed, not sure yet …but I do understand Hemingway’s sentiment
“There is nothing to writing.” Hemingway said, “All you do is sit down at a typewriter…and bleed! (or laptop in an attic space!) That’s Hemingway for you, no more to be said, but I’d better see if Ted has bandages?