What a first half of the week. Not just work, not just the arduous York-Hull-York travelgasm, but out every night, doing theatre-related stuff. Monday it was Trap For A Lonely Man, one of those bloody awful travelling travesties of a murder mystery starring Peter Amory, who used to play a corpse in Emmerdale. Shit’s not the word. Last night I was at a trustees meeting of Northern Theatre. Tonight I have to endure The Merchant of Venice, in Scarborough. It’s just been loads of get in the car, get out the car, get in the car, fall asleep, wake up business. I can’t wait for Thursday. Just to curl up on the sofa with a packet of jaffa cakes in the company of a good woman. Heaven. No, you can’t have a jaffa cake. Life’s moving too fast right now. And I don’t like it. I need a time out. Not the chocolate wafer biscuit kind. I haven’t written anything for ages, and I feel mad about that, because that’s all I’m interested in. Instead, I have to come here everyday and endure the ramblings of complete imbeciles.