"Oh, bloody hell! Oh, for God's sake...! Fuck it!"

...Or, in other words, What Chaz Said when he discovered the latest packet that Mac had ripped open and tried to eat entirely.

Sugar. Light soft brown sugar.

For the avoidance of doubt, he's a cat. Got that? A cat.

Happily, I am still able to make my carrot cake, despite his evil depradations.

I am going to make him spell Evil Depradations. Then he'll be sorry. He's a cat; it could take some time. I told you he'd be sorry.

Also, "Oy! Mac! Get your face out of my carrot-cake batter!"

Sigh.

Ouchie

Okay, this is odd: my chest hurts. Badly.

Nothing so much odd about that, you think? Man with bad asthma, history of chest infections, all that stuff? Yup, I know - but it's been the same for the last three days, that my chest really hurts in late afternoon. Starts up about three o'clock, is horrid by five, ebbs away an hour later and is okay by seven.

An hour ago, I was wondering just how ill I was, whether I should talk to someone about it. Right now? Much easier, thanks. And all I've done from then to this is drink. I know a million ways that wine is good for you, but as a bronchodilator/analgesic? Not so much, I fancy.

Tho', now I come to think of it, five o'clock is just when I start drinking of an evening. Hmm...

In other news: tomorrow evening! Peterborough Central Library! Me, Pat Cadigan, Amanda Hemingway, Ian Watson, Andy West, Ian Whates! (Thinks: good lord, that came out alphabetical! Even me! Pure coincidence...) Launching new book, disLOCATIONS! Be there if you can, it'll be a great evening...

Oh, bugger

Knew I shouldn't have said anything: because now, of course, I feel crap again; and yup, my chest really, really hurts. So much for the efficacy of wine (tho' I might just drink the rest of the bottle anyway. Hell, I'm away tomorrow, it'll only go off in my absence).

And yes, okay, I'll make an appointment with the doc before I leave. Promise.