I, like many others in these strange times, am finding it difficult to concentrate, least of all on what I should be doing. After a couple of totally unproductive days. I revisited a branch of my family tree that has been virtually untouched for over forty years. Before you scoff, bear in mind how difficult research was then. No digital images, no indexes, just trawling through page after page of original parish registers in archives. In fact, much of this was done by another trusted researcher. It is only now that I have got around to going over the earlier generations and verifying the information. Or in this case not verifying it. I come from a long line of Bishops. Not actual bishops you understand but people with the surname Bishop. This included four successive generations of chaps called Christopher.

It seems that the original researcher was pretty hot on baptisms and marriages. She also spent ages doing in-depth research in churchwardens’ and overseers’ accounts in which they feature, all good stuff. What she failed to do was to attempt to kill these guys off. First, I discover that the lady who held the distinction of being 9x great granny, Annes (or Agnes) Maddick, died before alleged 8x great granddad was born. Cue the substitution of Jane Thorne, second wife of 9x great granddad Christopher Bishop I, in the role of 9x great granny. Oh hang on, here was a burial of a Christopher Bishop just two weeks after the supposed baptism of 8x great granddad Christopher Bishop II. Clearly ‘my’ Christopher Bishop, who married Mary Bowman and went on to have yet another Christopher (lacking in imagination these Bishops), was not only not the son of Christopher and Annes but not the son of Christopher and Jane either. In the absence of probate material for Devon, I doubt if I will ever be able to be conclusive about my 9x great-grandparents on this line but never mind, I’d rather have a shorter tree that was accurate.

I have also undertaken the biannual excavation of the flies’ graveyard that is the shelf round my conservatory where the ‘walls’ join the roof. This involves much precarious balancing on window sills and is not to be recommended. Said shelf contains many historic ornaments, all of which have to be taken down and wiped in order to remove the fly pooh. What is it about flies and conservatories? The warmth I suppose. I maintain that I leave the cobwebs there (and believe me there are plenty of those) for six months in order to catch the flies. Are you convinced?

After over a week of ‘block’, I have just written some more of novel number two. Still scheduled for launch in August, even if it can only be a virtual launch of a digital version at first. It is so nearly finished. Probably about 4000-5000 words left to write. Today’s clue. Although the characters in the modern strand inhabit a rather different version of 2020, there are references to COVID-19.

Oh and the Cornish? Still not got beyond dydh da I’m afraid but a helpful book arrived in the post today.

And a pretty sunrise from my bedroom window (December 2017), just because I can.