I read recently that Amazon are selling a book by Jim Crace which he hasn't actually written. Nor is he planning to write it, although if he chose to, they could tell him how many pages to aim for (224). He's ordered a copy and is eagerly awaiting what arrives in the post. And oh look - you can buy it too. Might be a rather long wait for that particular pre-order.

After a couple of mind-numbing hours poring over tiny complicated figures in Excel spreadsheets we can no longer pretend to understand, helping the poet prepare his tax for his accountant, I've got nothing for you but relief that we didn't argue like we usually do when using the computer (he doesn't get multi-tasking).

Also, my feet are frozen. When I first came to the UK from semi-tropical Queensland I believed the myth that central heating means you wear skimpy clothes all year round, because it's warm! Inside! But no, not for you the eternal indoor sunshine, not unless you can afford huge gas bills. So it's sexy thick socks and hot water bottles for me when I'm on the net, and now time to have a bath. With a shower afterwards, because it is impossible for me to be clean when I am sitting in the water my dirt has washed off in. Not that I'm dirty. But I'm all for the rinsing.