I had an e-mail yesterday from the editor of The Kemptown Rag to say that someone had written to her (probably to complain, I don't know), and had finished his letter with this afterthought:

"PS love Phil Gardner's stuff."

It's the best review I've had since someone wrote in to call me bitchy, negative and ill-informed.

Interestingly, now that I've taken a minimum wage non-writing job (which at this rate I'll be starting just before Christmas), people seem to be falling over themselves to big me up (that's a young person's expression) (so I have no right to use it). I discovered last night that The Phoenix Gallery are referring visitors to my blog post about their new exhibition. I wish I hadn't used the word 'tosh' now.

Anyhoo, I'm still on tenterhooks, waiting for an official start date at the hospital. It's like being on the kidney transplant list, but with fewer state benefits. It does mean, however, that I have the chance to get out and about, which is handy because I've discovered a highly intriguing event starting... um... about five minutes ago. It's called Survive in the Wild, and is described as "Hands-on activites to test survival skills for children aged 8-13".

How fantastic is that? You teach small children how to eat rats, dump them out in the woods, and see how many survive. I'm not sure it's strictly legal, but it sounds like a lot of fun. I've always thought parenting would be a lot easier if you could just leave your kids outside and let them eat bugs.

I'm tempted to go and collect Lisa's 8-year-old nephew, dress him up like Rambo and drop him in Uckfield with a big knife, but unfortunately I'm due at the Jobcentre at 10:30am. It's a 15-minute walk, so I really ought to be hitting 'Publish'.