Happy new year, sort of.

That's what the smiling manager of the bike shop said to me with a grin you'd expect from a giant shark upon spotting a dozing seal. 

    Apparently it was my own fault that I was on furlough - again.

    The salt on the roads have corroded the aluminium calipers on my motorbike brakes, rendering them useless as they won't come off. I think I used about six months of meat from the brake pads, just getting to the shop. When he's finished the caliper rebuild, he'll probably tell me that the pads will need to be changed as well. But if he thinks I'm going to pay for them, then he can go whistle as the bike has been into his shop twice in the past three weeks for exactly the same problem, for which I paid dearly.

    That aside, my day's going fine. I'm nearly half way through the first draft of Harold (I think I'll have to rethink the title) and now the fun is starting. My fun that is, I always have a good time thinking up ridiculous situations for my characters to fall into, and just as much fun getting them out, or not, as the case may be.

    He's accumulated the IQ of a dustbin, which is about twice what he had upon starting the book. He's also found a love interest. There won't be any hanky panky; I don't do that.

    Hope you're all enjoying the new year. For myself, I'm only looking forward to my first Covid injection, for which I've already been alerted. I hope it's soon.