I'm not sure how long it is since I last posted here. Three days maybe, but right now I'm too tired to worry, too tired to check, and certainly too tired to care. The story I've been working on for, (and with), Pia is done at last. I sent it early this afternoon, and then spent hours wondering what her reaction would be. Her response was something along the lines of 'change a single word and you're dead...', and not a rude word in sight.

Actually I'm quite worried about her, think she must be sickening for something, though I'd put money on it that she'll be back come morning with a conversation that will start - 'Well, now I've had chance to read it properly, don't you think... '

Why the hell did I ever think that being a writer was a glamorous occupation for such a playboy of the western world as myself? Only reason I can come up with is insanity.

So yes it's true, I got Falmouth's acceptance letter this morning. It's sitting on the coffee table as I write this, and in the morning I'll complete my confirmation, send them an OBSCENE amount of money and start looking forward to October 5th.

If I wasn't so old, I'd want the months to fly by, but old age brings some sense, even to someone like me. The days are too precious to waste them now, I'd rather spin them out as long as I can if that's okay.

Thanks for listening, call by again some time, even say 'Hi' if you like. I'll be around.


Chris