Things I have learned in the past week and a half

1) Bernard Cribbins thinks Great Uncle Bulgaria and Madame Cholet were at it.

2) It is possible for me to write 9,000 words in the space of a week. Not necessarily well, but at least written.

3) Sensation fiction is far too long.

4) There's an outbreak of norovirus at the moment. Despite this, the GC assures me the stomach bug he's had for the past week isn't at all contagious, and is turning up tonight. I'm legally allowed to murder him if I get ill, right?

5) It is impossible to write a cover letter without sounding like an idiot. And apparently "please hire me, I'm awesome" isn't acceptable.

That's pretty much it. The past week or so has been a fascinating combination of either essaying or sleeping - with the exception of seeing Bernard Cribbins at the BFI (who was fecking awesome, and I want him as my grandad) Also headed to the launch of Birds Eye View. They had free wine. I was happy.

Being Human

Last night I headed into to for a preview of the new series of Being Human. Which was, as expected, awesome. BBC3, Sunday, 9:30 - watch it. It's good.

The Being Human blog explains all. And they have the advantage of having their very own Aidan Turner, who is very pretty and therefore deserves to be appreciated aesthetically. Preferably on a cinema screen, but a brief video will have to do for now.

The only major drawback was queuing in subzero temperatures outside the cinema for an hour. I think I've just about managed to defrost.

The thing that surprised me slightly was the mix of fans. I'm used to wandering along to Doctor Who stuff, which is 95% male - the majority technically old enough to be my dad. This was full of very loud teenage girls (and their mums), which made me feel slightly old and haggard.

The advantage is that we got to go to the pub afterwards. Where the lovely Simon and his lovely friends plied me with red wine. All I really remember about getting home is falling over more often than usual. Icy pavements and drunken staggering are not the greatest of combinations.

It took me slightly by surprise - while Westminster have actually bothered removing ice from their pavements, Hackney (surprise surprise) haven't. So I walked out of Old Street station to find myself arse over tit. It would probably have been easier to just roll home.