Late at night. Tonight has been, in no particular order: vodka, piano, Andrew Marr geniusness, Tyrrell's veggie crisps geniusness, How To Look Good Naked, white wine, Manx kippers, bread, e-bay, strawberries, The Lady of Shalott , the sudden news of death of an old colleague and friend, still taking that in, and, now everyone's asleep and I'm still vodka-wired and can't find old friend on Google, Therese's story. Go Therese, except I'm too old to say that. Therese's story is inspirational and as good a tale of What It's Like To Be A Writer I've read anywhere, with happy ending intact. Except it's not an ending of course. Just the beginning. And hopefully not The End. Or The Middle. Or whatever.
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.