Suddenly everyone is noticing the weight loss. The back room looks dusty in the afternoon. Bloody builders didn't bloody turn up. Bastards. Watching Charlie eat Holyrood breakfast is Not a Pretty Sight. Survived the Writer's Bloc group intact, and with even some praise. Apparently I will be reading a teeny piece at the next performance on Burns Night. Eek! Declined the offer to rename the event The Bastard Sons and Daughter of Burns on my accounts, though personally I think Spawn sounds better. Bought a sapphire that looks like a sugar pill, and tourmaline, and blue quartz, and Garnets - lots of lovely garnets. My bankruptcy will be declared shorty. Time out for Chinese and making shape out of Anna's new toy, then Lord of the Rings. Woo! I want a Balrog, a little one with butane breath, guaranteed not to set fire to the flat, oh can I have one, please? I guess that'll be Boromir, from the way he looks just like Boromir. Bad lager and fear of dogs in the Maltings, but in good company. Do you want me to put my hand in his mouth to show how harmless he is? No thanks very much for offering. Why do crowds of folk stand around the door when there're so many seats in the back? Dreaming of climbing mountains, and climbing, and climbing. Woke up with cold knees. I want to go to New Zealand. Yet more coffee and sorting things out. If things get any more sorted we could have entropy licked. Surprise, surprise - low fat food is back in fashion. I was into it before it was trendy, you know. Detox your brain, do washing up, tidy clothes straight from floor to washing machine, cut off all my fingernails, since three were casualties of shopping. Now shower, bed, sleep, work, and repeat.