They're a little late.

With November just a couple of days away I'm beginning to think that my front garden has a micro climate. These just came out in the last two days. They won't last long, since the clocks go back tonight plunging us into permanent darkness, but they're still a nice sight.

    I'm caught in a bit of a dilemma, a dilemma-ette if you like.
    One hundred pages into my new novel and I've just thought of something else, a genre I've never tried before. I can see it roiling about in my foetid brain. I think I'll give it a go, but I'm not doing what I did last time and try to write three novels at the same time. It nearly wore what passes for my brain into a charred lump.

  I've been painting again. Always a bad sign.