The Spoons That Are My Ears!

I feel a lot better now, though am still a little weak. My financial difficulties haven't gone away but a new job may be on the horizon. We'll see. One of the things about having nowhere of my own to live is that my possessions are not at hand. I don't even have immediate access to my notes for The Pilgrim's Regress, so I'm deferring work on that novel until I secure a new flat. I can't wait to get back to work on it: but I'll have to be patient, I guess.

In the meantime I've decided to turn my Mr Gum tales into a small novel by writing and adding new material. The original five stories now form the first of three linked sections and I'm currently working hard on the second section. The third section will be a series of spoof detective stories. The end result should be a fully integrated obscene comedy that explores the neglected profundity of puerility. Naturally I intend to include characters from my other story cycles in this new project.

My Portuguese t-shirts are apparently on their way to me. I look forward to receiving them and wearing one of my stories. It's not everyday that a writer clothes himself in his own words. All I need is a top hat to go with my 'tales' and I can stroll into ballrooms and exclusive hotels without being slung out. Probably not. Last night I strolled into the Uplands Tavern instead to listen to the Rag Foundation supporting King of Despair. My friend Sarita turned up with a radical new hairstyle, but the fact it's a wig is a secret.