I managed two solid hours writing before my brain shut down on account of the sudden onset of a headache.

I have since dioscovered that paracetamol, coffee and lying on your bed with your eyes closed, listening to Porcupine Tree rights the world in no short order.

I am going to give it to the end of the album and hit the keyboard for the final stretch of this interminable piece of writing, finish it off and then format it.

One more then, before deadline, and one after that. I shall be be glad when it's all finished; I've had enough.

I am developing a slight headache; it is very close here in the office. I think a few more rate-payers have been thrown on the furnace to counteract the forecast-but-not-yet-arrived cold weather.

Still, off home soon.

Like a siren the cheese calls me, and its aroma is seeping out of the wrapping.

I shall get a seat on the Tube tonight.