I caught a tiny bit of X-Factor, or was it Strictly last night. It’s hard to tell the difference. It was funny going out and seeing it playing out through pub windows. For something so mindless, it seemed very low key. I’d be disappointed if I’d wanted to see something truly mindless. Even Robbie seemed thoughtful as he tried to jig it up a bit with some dad dancing moves. Maybe because Brucie wasn’t there, Robbie wanted to look like the oldie. Maybe Brucie doesn’t work on a Sunday because it’s against his religion. Thought provoking. Not.

The already disappointing Genius Of British Art rocketed in the interest department in that it wasn’t Starkey presenting it this week. The concept must be to have the opinion of different presenters each week. Cor! But there was a sad recurrence of the presenter’s ubiquitous family tree within minutes of the start and I mean quite literally we were shown a family tree. For one moment I thought I was watching Who Do You Think Your Are? but then I forgot that TV’s just Gene Therapy for the genetically insecure presenters.

I returned to my novel after several months away and it’s still the anarchic, noir, sci-fi masterpiece I thought it always was. Watch out world. You’re about to be blown away. Uhm. That’s enough confidence boosting rhetoric of the deluded artist. By page 17 even I was thinking what the fuck is this all about, and I wrote it. But then I think that about most novels so it’s probably okay.