Making A Living As A Writer

This must be brief.  We have a leg of lamb in the oven (with onions, potatoes and parsnips). After eating that, with a glass of Cotes du Rhone, it'll be an early night - and tomorrow, come hell or high water, I must start work on the new book. Mike Pannett in the Met.

So, a quick catch-up. I went to York yesterday to watch City's last game of the league season. Had to walk the long way round from the station to the ground, as the river was up and flooding the tow-paths. It was a poor game, which we won 1-0 with our second-string, effectively - plus the 43-year-old Paul Musselwhite in goal. Had to laugh when he went down to gather a shot, and as he rose to his feet there was this momentary pause, as if his knees were creaking - the way mine do. We now march on to the hell that is the play-offs - for a third time in four years. I'll be back for the first leg of the semi-final, against Mansfield, Wednesday night.

Meanwhile, in the stratosphere that is the Premier League, Chelsea put six past QPR, and, more importantly, Fernando Torres, our £50,000,000 striker, doubled his tally for the season, scoring three. Nice preparation for next week's Cup Final v his former team, Liverpool.

A note on the weather: it's been 5 or 6 degrees C today (41-43 F) and the rain has been chucking it down. It's the longest coldest spell of such weather I've ever known in April.

Right - I'm off to turn those roasting vegetables and pour a first glass of wine. But first, a plea to anybody who reads those free 30 pages of The Red House On The Niobrara. Please, please, please, post a review - unless of course you hate it.