Well, that was unexpected...

I keep thinking I'm going to have a day off. Instead, I just keep writing stuff, in between all the getting-on-with-life. Today it was a short story, unforeseen, unbudgeted: SF, of course, tho' a crime story in truth. About questions of identity, of course, as all my current SF is. Sort of a prequel to the novella, I suppose: the development that led to all the problems that it implies. Yup.

Otherwise: nah, not done much. Bought a book of very early photographs of China, for research-type purposes (these are great days: you can shop! on a bank holiday!), shifted some stuff around while I listened to the cricket. Like that. Then was smitten by story idea, and have sat here for, ooh, two solid hours, doing writing. Stopping now. Going to watch silly Star Trek movie, possibly followed by silly crime caper movie, if I'm not fed up with silly movies by then. Hey, it's a bank holiday, this is what one does, yes...?