Oh la la.

Dear Diary,

Well, blimey, having no television and only occasionally hearing news from nuntii Latini radiophonica generalis means I am very much out of the loop. Yet today, as I took my regular Red hot poker up the jacksie by the commie café, all thereabouts were talking about this shootout in Paris last night.

Simon, wearing his beret, a qualified historian and hence professional kitchen porter had this to say about it:

"Hollande will probably put boots on the ground, not just special forces but a lot of troops."

As for me, I was worried that my daughter might be into awful death metal music and now be mown down. I expect she's not, but one never knows. In any case, this, coupled with my own feelings of helplessness and generally being on a low ebb has given me the impetus I need to finally finish Zenobia (not that I can afford to publish it except locally). These past couple of days, where I have been despairing about starving, losing everything, including any sort of career that does not involve unskilled labour in a Chinese laundry or getting a right royal roasting up the backside by commies, week in week out, I realise I can use these negative feelings as a sort of catharsis, and complete my first play. I intend to write the suicide scene first then fill in the gaps.