Self Distract

Look, if I passed you in the street this week, if I met you in a shop or if you were even one of the staggering number of spam callers I get these days, I will have told you at length about my stepping down as a deputy chair of the Writers’ Guild.

Absolutely everything and everyone is just incredibly, overwhelmingly, fantastically interesting.

What’s on my mind to talk to you about today is so obvious as to be mansplaining, but it’s also happy and lately I think I’ve been so focused on writing issues and writing problems that I’ve been a bit grumpy.

I am sixty years old and I have never had a hobby before.

There are no rules in writing, but if you break them… Here’s a thing.

If you happen to remember BBC Ceefax, you’ll know that it had pages of news that you selected and read on your TV set.

I still haven’t seen The Odyssey but one of the writers who first made me want to write is insisting I should and that’s harder to resist than it is to find the time to see it.

At about 02:30 local time last night, says William reading to the court from his notes, I observed a suspicious milk delivery.

Okay, I would like to change some names here, except one is mine and I’m going to pretend I’ve forgotten the other.

I was criticised earlier this week for always watching films with a writer’s eye.

Okay, I just wanted to say “Clear and presenter danger.”

So it’s been on my mind to tell you that when Nigel Farage made his faux resignation speech this week, I was in the House of Commons.