DXLV

...and time for breakfast now. Wants coffee. *wants*

And I don't know how much more I'll write today; I have to go to Chesterfield. I'll take the toy typing device, of course, and maybe I'll work on the train, and maybe I'll work in pubs & cafes when I get there, and tomorrow too before I come home. Maybe. Right now, despite deadlines and death-marches and the pressure of the thing itself, the loom of climax in my head, I'm not feeling too frantic about that. I'm tired...

DL

But-but-but, you cry; what-what-what? What is this? Why are you at home, and posting numbers, when you are supposed to be in Chesterfield, gigging?

The answer, dear reader, is that I went to Chesterfield, I did; and went to the venue, and found that the gig was cancelled. And so I came home again.

I did at least work on the train down, which is why I can post pages. 550! Yay!

Didn't work coming back. Was too busy fuming. I think this may be the first time this has happened to me, that a venue cancels a gig because of poor bookings. 'Specially for literary events, where people are far more prone just to turn up. It's nice to be home, but I am kinda snarling, its being about eight hours snatched pointlessly from my day.

Still, the cats are pleased to see me home. They got extra-special second tea, and can't quite believe their luck.