Bishopsgate.

Bishopsgate.

Bishopsgate, damn it – not Holborn. Bishopsgate.

I seem to suffer from a curious affliction that makes me read “Bishopsgate” and understand “Holborn.” Repeatedly. For weeks – and, what’s worse, for chapters.

Until, one day, I’m poring over an annotated slice of Agas Map for Bishopsgate, and…

“Oh, look! Another Pye Inn!” chirps my inner chickadee.

“How interesting. Now, about Gracechurch/Gracious Street…”

But the Chickadee is nothing if not persistent.

“And near another St. Botolph Church! How very, very peculiar…”

Which is when I realised that no, it wasn’t peculiar at all – just the proof that I am slightly off-kilter.  And that I had to revise my first two chapters, because I had set them in the wrong part of London…

And how I could have done it exactly, rather baffles me. I can only guess I chose to consider St. Botolph-Without-Aldgate – never mind that it wasn’t quite in the right ward… And I arbitrarily placed the inn somewhere in the vicinity. Something stupid like that.

Well, at least I caught myself in time. All I have to do is turn things topsy-turvy from now on, and leave chapters 1 and 2 for the second draft. It could have been worse. I couldn’t have noticed. I don’t know what kind of ailment it is – but at least it has its periods of respite.

Bishopsgate. Bishopsgate. Bishopsgate.

Bishopsgate.