Voy Por Ustedes

Wasn't the weather horrible yesterday? Hot, humid - 94% humidity they say - that must be how it feels to be a pair of Fern Britton's knickers. Today is much nicer and once again my natural fragrance is abundant.

So anyway, I've abandoned my research on the Mr Men temporarily as I have far more pressing concerns to attend to. I've finally began writing my novel for real. It's taken me longer than I care to divulge to actually reach this point.

I've been fannying about with ideas and half-hearted attempts at planning the thing for yonks, but as of today I'm getting well serious. Three months I reckon, and it'll be sorted. I should be a millionaire within a year.


Next week it's my birthday I'll have you know. My plan is to have some cake and then whizz over to Luton for to take part in the GUKPT fessie. Not the main event of course, but certainly one of the £100 freeze-outs. I shall probably drink quite heavily if I'm honest.



Finally, it's the third test tomorrow between England and the most evil race of people on gah's clean earth. They're putting Andre Nel in the side on this occastion I'm hearing, who to be fair to him, is the biggest nob in world sport.

I'll lay 3/1 he's burst a blood vessel in his neck by the end of the first session - probably shouting at one Alistair Cook for no apparent reason.

My blogs may be few and far between for a while because of my dedication to my booker prize winning novel, but don't cry, I've very rarely got anything important to say.