Oh deary, deary me but the word count is not behaving. Perhaps I need to treat myself to some new pyjamas. Or may be I should try plumping the pillows... or adjusting the angle-poise.

I must NOT let the Shed contingent get wind of this hiatus.  Bed is best.

Believe me, do, when I say I am trying to be disciplined. I've locked Fragile Confidence in a wardrobe so she can't interfere and I've replenished the bedside supply of milk chocolate Hobnobs (true, that last act does not smack of self-discipline but it is essential). As anyone can see, despite our recent burglary, I'm doing my best, I'm soldiering on. However I have been knocked off track. I am utterly distracted; I can't for the life of me fathom why anyone would pinch my washing up basin, my washing up liquid and my washing up brush....

Perhaps my particular burglars suffer from some strange and debilitating form of Schizophrenia brought on by long years of thieving, a form of Schizophrenia that, ultimately, interferes with their 'value' judgements. It must be tricky locating a specialist fence for their brand of swag.

Will post again soon once my mists of confusion have dissipated and the word count has toe-ed the line.