Reality check

A lovely sunrise this morning. It stretched all around the east to pinken the skies to the north and south as well.

At 6.10, just as I was about to leave for work, Heather came into the conservatory. I sat her on my knee and we shared the peace and quiet, talking in hushed tones. She told me she was going to hurry and get dressed so that she could get on with the painting and glueing she'd started the evening before. Then she was going have breakfast and watch some telly, cut out some shapes and make a collage. "Sounds lovely," I said. "I wish I could stay at home too." I set her down and opened the door. This was the dangerous bit. I saw her bottom lip trembling. "Don't cry," I said. "I'll be back in . . . nine hours!"

Oh dear.

Tears, tantrums, kicking and screaming. Rending of garments and carpet chewing. Jill came in and told me I was setting a bad example and pushed me out. Heather looked on, nonplussed by it all.

Okay, so that last bit's a lie, but never let the truth spoil a good story, that what I always say.

'Humankind cannot bear very much reality.' T.S. Eliot.

Which as good an excuse as any for me to go away now and write some lies (or fiction as it's more popularly called) and play some of that Half Life 2 mod I've been raving on about this past couple of days, MINERVA: Metastasis.

Oh, nearly forgot, I just sold the film rights to my first published short story 'Memory Bones'. Sam Raimi is coming round to the bungalow tonight to go over some of the finer points. S'true.