Brain porridge

I spent 9 hours today editing a mere 40 pages of the hedge funds book. Plus about 20 figures in Excel - the last one alone took me more than 2 hours. The grey cells feel fried. Never mind, the pay cheque will be worth it.

All I wanted to do this evening was eat (because I forgot about food all day and did the usual hack thing of running on nicotine and caffeine) and watch TV. The beloved P rustled up a mean fillet steak and chips for me, washed down with some vin rouge. Alas, the TV was a desert, nothing I wanted to watch (ain't that always the case?). Dragon's Den has finished. :(

All that networking paid off, though - I remembered meeting a French guy who runs a local cleaning business, so I booked him to restore some order to Wordsmith HQ until we can find a regular (cheaper) Mrs Mopp, to replace the one that quit. He arrived promptly at 9am and 8 hours later, the house was sparkling and the ironing was done. Bliss.

Am off to crawl into bed with a book - currently reading this. It's surprisingly good. Despite the gripping prose, I am likely to fall asleep with it in my hand and the light on...