Today finds me at work and thinking about Kafka. Although I started both The Castle, and TheTrial I was unable to finish either as both books made me feel anxious and depressed. I am thinking of Kafka chiefly because my wretched house move is making me feel like this too. Dates and promises are drifted temptingly before you by the human tapeworms which are lawyers and estate agents, only to be moved and revised when you reach out for them. Meanwhile the months fritter away and you end up impotently moaning in your blog about the Kafkaesque nature of it all. I don't know much about Kafka but I can only imagine what a bitch life must have been for him to write those books.

Life otherwise is cheerful. This time of year is fantastic in agencies. Clients are chiefly to be schmoozed, parties are to be had, and generally everyone hooks up with their old muckers. Much gormandising and drinking to be done and this is all good. Time to bury the hatchets with your colleagues and clients and get trashed, only for the whole ghastly rigmarole to start again in January.

On another note, my ex-wife is going great guns at the moment, appearing on TV and radio and so on. Looking forward to catching up with her next week to get the inside story.

Meanwhile I living with my folks still like some overgrown teenager. But thank goodness for their generosity. It means I don't have to fork out immense rents while waiting for the house business to be resolved. Being treated royally to toast and porridge and coffee every morning. And the elves steal into my bedroom during the day and straighten my duvet and do my washing.

I need to go for a swim now, all this partying is taking its toll. Ventripotence, as Dickens called it, is not a good look.