Today is the second time I've had the dubious honour of seeing the underside of an enormous truck.
The first time was when one of the scallywags ran me down on my motorbike. Not much damage - to him, although my bike was pretty much trashed. Lots of sobbing from me and expletives from him.
Today I was driving my boss's Mercedes when it happened. Never in my entire life have I seen such an enormous lumbering monster squeezing through the tiny little streets in Earls Court. And it's a good job German cars are so strong. Not too much damage; only enough to ensure me a serious telling-off from my boss, even though it was his (the truck driver's) fault. But I'm home now and hopefully the only further peril I shall suffer tonight is terminal boredom at my wife's favourite soap on tv.
I finally finished, which is to say that I got so bored that I can't do anymore, on my latest painting.
Although I've got a sizeable chunk of my new novel done (in my head) I'm going to spend the next few weeks trying to sell my novels, especially after reading a famous writer/blogger a while ago who decided to increase the price of all his novels and as a result sold a lot.
I did the same and sold none. Of course that could be because I've done absolutely no marketing at all. Now, I've just got to work out how to make my novels stand out amongst the other 100000000000000000000 on the market.
If I do crack it you'll hear my squeals of delight from wherever you are.