Depressed...

... very depressed...

I just saw the top of my head in the offlicence's CCTV.

Bah. I shall never pull again and might as well put in my application to become a monk now.

Afternoon of drinking with Rob, Steph, Adele and David, followed by a reasonably good Greek dinner. Sadly they all buggered off home, and Anna is probably dancing to bleepy music in a field outside Winchester, so I'm morosely drinking on my own. Such is life.

I'm not sure whether Clanwilliam will be amused or irritated to know that Christopher Fildes in The Spectator has picked up on the slightly odd choice of new name Wentworth Rose went for in their rebranding exercise: Origen, and wondered whether the FSA will expect them to follow his sacrifice (bung it into google if you aren't following).

Oh, and via the self-same Speccie but originally from Waterstones Book Quarterly, a rather good exchange with Philip Pullman:

"What do you want a teenage readership to think and feel after reading His Dark Materials?"

"What I want people to feel most fervently after reading one of my books is "I must go out at once and buy his next one."

I find him an irritating man, if a brilliant writer, nonetheless I think he gets points for that.

Rather atypical racing note.... I don't usually weary you with this rubbish, but I'd like to note that in my view, when a major figure at Ladbrokes comes out with comments about "one race every day being fixed" and blames it on the internet betting exchanges, I find myself wondering just how much business said betting exchanges are taking from the high street bookies.

On the other hand... I still want to know what the fuck Kieran Fallon was up to.

New Lindsey Davis, looking pretty good so far, enough already.