I don't want to whine - well, actually I do.

I’m slowly beginning to lose the Swamp Thing look. Scarlet fever has finally begun to depart. Great, I thought – back to normal.

    So I ventured out of the house yesterday to breathe what passes for air in west London, and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts. I even did some of the gardening my beloved has been moaning about for months.

    Perhaps I’m just getting old. I’m certainly not eighteen anymore, and clearly no longer have the resilience to tear pesky ivy roots out of the ground with a sneer of disdain. More like a howl of anguish.

    Now I’m stuck in the house – again. I think I’ve torn just about every muscle in my back. My wife thinks I’m doing it for attention, but the pain is killing me and somewhere up there, someone’s laughing at my stupidity. Come to think of it someone’s laughing at lot closer than that.

    ‘Stay on your back old man’, she muttered in between giggles as she and my so-called daughter disappeared off to do whatever it is women do the very second after they’ve been paid.

    If this is what it’s like to get old then they can keep it. I want to be eighteen again. Maybe there’s a pill.

I sold my first book in Canada! Not exactly taking over the world but it's a good start.