Thinking about last night on the tube to work today. I guess I was feeling uncomfortable as seeing a contemporary after such a long time makes you want to provide some kind of account of your life. What you end up doing is swapping a few headlines -- although there's all kinds of non-verbal signals that communciate so much more. But it's strangely unsatisfying in a way. Unless the events of your life are understood in some sort of context you end up presenting a caricature of yourself; a snapshot of the way you see your life at that exact moment. For a writer it is inevitable that a degree of self-consciousness would creep in when you find yourself accounting for yourself.

Slugging about at work again. Feel tired and a bit disconnected. Andy had a good idea on the pitch work and this might sort our tv proposal out. He is full of ideas.

Just been on the phone to Mrs Kenny who has just returned from hospital. She was driven there by Sharon who apparently was good, and not evil as usual. Although she did laugh at Mrs Kenny's sock and sit in the disabled parking spot smoking a fag rather than let someone else park there. Mrs K now tired with all the hopping and shuffling about.

Our tickets came through for St Lucia in this morning's mail. Which is poor as we have had to cancel the holiday.

My application form for the Royal Society of Arts came through this morning, with my pal Janet having kindly nominated me. This was important because Mrs Kenny was invited completely out of the blue to be a member, which left me feeling bitter and resentful.