Had to call my big sister tonight.

She lost her partner at the weekend. He just dropped dead during the night. They had been together for longer than Jo and I had been married. More than 13 years then.

She is handling it suprisingly well and is being looked after by members of his family and her friends where she works and local to where she lives.

She is tougher than I am.

I wine about the comparitivly minor crap that I have going on, then you realise that other people in the world have got some serious stuff to deal with.

Just back from a ciggie outside in the wonderfully "Celeb" packed west end. And while out there I saw a strange site.

I saw tall and lanky "It Will Be Alright on the Night 789" presentere Dennis Norden sporting an eye patch over his right eye!

Must have passed too close to me on occasions and picked up the pirate infection.

Oh dear.

A busy street, sun (yes bloody sun!), people passing, you sitting, cold beer, good friend, nice pub, happy mood.

I love this place called London.

Now all I need is a riverside flat, a vast sum of money, and no need to ever work again and I would be set.

Yep. Never gonna happen.

Oh well.

You can always dream.

There seem to be an awful lot of Americans working in this building.

Just found two drawling in the lift.

There must be about six on this floor.

Where are they all coming from!

Do we have an infestation?

Should we call Rentokill?

'tis odd.

I am still surprising people with my change of hairstyle.

Just now, finishing off a ciggie outside, a chap who has become a “Smoking acquaintance” joined me. We were stood by the wall mounted ash tray, I put out my ciggie and said “It’s all yours, see you later”

“I won’t need it soon – gonna have to give up”

“Yeah it’s the damn price of the things now” and I went to walk off.

“Here hang on! You havin’ a chop?” he said looking at my head.

HAVING a chop? Eh?

“No, I still have long hair – it’s just invisible now. See ya”

In other news, I think I look about 50 years old today. Meh.