under another sun

A man called Steve came round first thing to unblock a drain, with a good deal of vigorous and splashy plunging, and sharing of his opinions about the mysterious nature of drains. I've had more dealings with plumbers and drain people in my last few Brighton years, than I have had in the rest of my life. There is something symbolic about Brighton's dodgy labyrinth. 'It's like a doing a jigsaw,' Steve the drains said ruefully. And often with poos , I thought, feeling rather sorry for him. After the excitement of scientifically filling sinks, flushing loos and so on, I got back to working on my business book, still grappling with the fundamental link between fashion and marketing, interrupted only by Calliope and Brian, who have taken to playfully chasing each other in a thundering way around the house or crowding around my desk like Hitchcock's birds. A fasting day, I met Lorraine in Sainsbury's this evening on the way back from work. She'd fallen over...

Gripping the mince pie Friday... So that would be when the work comes in then. Actually not bad work, and clearly briefed, and it didn't break my holiday mood too much. Among other things, I wrote four little case study monologues: two men with erection problems, and a man and a woman with glaucoma. Ye Gods. Broke off after lunch of miso soup (a packet job but organic, and with no poisonous MSG) to climb up the hill so Anna could tell me what I needed to do in my forthcoming role as Santa, and to give her an overdue birthday present. I have been practicing my "ho-ho-ho" (not something you could get away with in - say - Brooklyn) and have opted for mellow and rich as opposed to booming. I don't want to create a team of little Santaphobics, who will begin to loathe Christmas, drop out of school, and end up assassinating Archduke Franz Ferdinand or something just because of a Wrong Santa. It's a responsibility. My Godchildren Klaudia and Oskar both spontaneousl...