Well remarkably enough I did do some writing yesterday. I remained encamped in my hole under Brighton pier, leaving only to meet Lisa for lunch (a nutritious meal consisting of cheesecake and tea), then returning to my burrow for an afternoon of quality creative writing, interrupted only by two gay men who wandered past, saw me with my laptop, and said "Got any dirty pictures on there?". I laughed, said no, and hoped they wouldn't offer to rectify the situation.

Personally I felt I'd achieved something by the end of the day. So did Lisa, though I think she felt my achievement was not so much to have produced some worthwhile writing, but more to have managed to sit on Brighton beach all day with a laptop computer without being mugged.

A quick meal out, and it was back home for the England match, during which I made a point of ridiculing the commentators for their regular use of the phrase "I don't want to tempt fate, but..."

I was still ridiculing them this morning, when I walked Lisa to work, and commented that without wishing to tempt fate, there's no way any traffic wardens would ever bother checking a street like this for illegally parked visitors from Suffolk.

I was quite correct. For about two hours. The first traffic warden arrived at 10:30am. So my planned day of writing and napping went out the window, to be replaced by a day of surreptitious car-moving to get around the two hour parking limit. I discovered that the next street has a four hour limit, so I'm currently parked there, and if Lisa listens to me, she'll be moving there asap. It's obviously a better neighbourhood.

I'm returning home tonight. I see Brighton as a form of shift work: five days on, nine days off. So it's back to Shotley Gate for a week and a bit. I bet they've missed me.

Oh, and yes, I have another two packets of Polos. They mysteriously turned up on my guitar case yesterday when I wasn't looking. With work like this, Lisa's Mum could make the tooth fairy jealous.