This summer I have a) finished a book and b) not yet finished a book. The fact that that was not "finished two books" means that the paper I was going to write for the Weird Council conference had not been written when I left home on Thursday. Nor, because mine host got back from work at 5.30 rather than 6.30, was it written by 6.30 on Thursday. Then, naturally, Googlemaps lied about the location of Southampton Row (locating it off Bainbridge Street) so it took about forty minutes to find a Caffe Nerd. However, the paper was written by 8.50 and so, if it was "a talk from spidery quotes in a miniature pocket notebook!" that was because I didn't have time to write neatly. Still, rather too close to zero hour.

Train journey home dominated by four young men trying to be the Three Stooges and thumping the crap out of each other. I don't know if the seats were torn before they got on, but that a couple of hundred quid of damage. So much for CCTV.

Today was bed, mostly, not finishing the book. Should I do some now or go to the pub?



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