Well, whatever it is - I've lost it.
Can't be bothered to advertise my new novel upon which I've bestowed so much love.
Can't be bothered to begin the next one.
Can't be bothered to paint.
I think I've spent so much time struggling for a chance to do all three, that now, when it's been handed to me on a plate, I just can't do it.
I think it might be because my daughter is pregnant.
I'm happy about that because she is. It's just that my little princess is no longer small enough to send to bed early if she misbehaves. She's a woman now and can tell me exactly where to shove it if she chooses.
And if one more person joyfully tells me just what fun it is to be a grandad I may just slaughter them.
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