There’s a house in the street round the corner that has Christmas lights twinkling in the tree in its front garden. Already.

The weekend has been… useful, I guess I’d say. I’ve done a lot of the things I’ve needed to do. I’ve done few of the things I’ve wanted. I zapped Windows on my second PC and reinstalled from scratch. In spite of the fact I’ve applied all the relevant patches it has rejuvenated the long-gone problem of USB devices causing the system to hang in a most unrecoverable and concerning manner.

I have also finally got my router working, so my Windows PC, Linux PC and Windows notebook can all access the broadband connection at the same time. Somehow this also fixed my Linux printing problem - just as well as Windows now refuses to even see my other printer.

I’ve done masses and masses and masses of washing.

I’ve presented the show, and mixed up Dolly Parton and Tammy Wynette, as helpfully pointed out in a listener email waiting patiently in my inbox as I arrived home at four fifteen.

Had a nice tea drinking, cat stroking and gossip sharing session with mum and Andrew and Andrew’s brother (this actually qualifies as one of the want-to rather than need-to tasks) and came home to discover one of my brake lights has expired.

I’ve been out with the camera looking for good pictures, but found only washed out skies, air full of drizzle. I’ve written some overdue letters, but not all of them, answered some ageing email, but not all of it, and thought again about the changes I need to make to my site, without actually sitting down and making them, because I didn’t have time.

And now it’s Sunday night. And it’s late, and after an early morning I’m tired. Tomorrow I’ll be back in the office, another ten tube fights away from the next weekend.

The book has not grown by one single word in the last seven days.

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