There and back again

I hast committed ... gig; but that was in another county, and besides, the wench was jemck...

I went to Manchester last night, and shared an event with Juliet McKenna and Stan Nicholls of TWF, and special guest stars Nick Royle and Paul Magrs. It was good gig, I think, and lovely to see Nick and Paul again, 'cos we don't bump into each other much any more. Not enough.

And then back to Juliet's for soup and the night and the morning, and so home by train: five hours to work and read Patrick O'Brian alternately, which was all good.

And the boys greeted me with the news that they were starving, that they hadn't been fed all day; and I reminded them that other cats were far worse off than they, and this cut no ice at all, let me tell you. So I left them face-down in a generous supper and came upstairs with a bottle of wine and have finished my chapter, hurrah.

Which means there is but one chapter to go, and I am sure I'll be done before Christmas. Unless another wardrobe falls on my head, thinking it's the sky.

How do you give a party, if you can't send invitations? All my e-dresses are in my e-dress book, which is on the dead computer. Which I'll be lucky to have back before Christmas, which is far too late to organise a party for my birthday. Urk. Perhaps I should just let it go?

Also, my watch broke. That's my body, my computer and my watch, in sharp succession: which is three. Add the three bottles, and that's six. Another three of something else, and it'll be three times three.