For the first time since I went freelance 47 months ago, I have missed a deadline. The particular boss has been terribly understanding and it's not been entirely my fault, but it's still something of a nuisance.
Still, the thing has been delivered five days late (or three if your weekends aren't working), and I am entirely in love with the pretty picture to go with it. You'll have to wait and see...
Other work has quietened down too - though I missed seeing Dr Who swotting West Wing on Tuesday due to pre-paid commitments in a house. The Doctor had fun, though admitted surprise at Mr Tennant's geekery, and again bewailed the socially inept demographic she and her girlfriends have all settled for.
There's plenty more on my slate but it's all rolling onward and we've overcome a plethora of last-minute hiccups. I repeat to myself the unofficial maxim of the modern NHS: if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger. And I am not dead yet.
Nor is K, who is staying with us for the next couple of weeks. She survived a first night with the cat (there'd been some concern about allergies, but she thinks its only dogs now), and also the sight of me manfully topless.
This morning I climbed on a train with a reading book and not print-outs to red-pen. Am delighted by how The School turned out - and so is Tapeloop, which is nice. I have also bought flowers for another man's missus, and talked tracing with the far end of the Earth.
Off to the pub tonight as it is that time of the month again. May even have time tomorrow to shout lunch for the accommodating boss.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll write a post that's actually *about* something. Blimey.