BarryHutchison

We’ve a lot to get through in the blog tonight, so if everyone could please shut up for five minutes, we can get started …

First up, Happy Birthday to me old mucker, Tommy Donbavand, who turns ancient today.  I think he’s like eight-six or eighty-seven or something.  I forget.  He looks good for it, though.

Well, quite good.

Actually, he’s nowhere near that age.  He’s still just a young ‘un, relatively speaking.  Barely older than me, in fact.  Just ten and a bit years, is all.  Ten long, withering years.

I first encountered Tommy a decade ago, meaning when we met he was the age I am now, and I was the age he was when I … I was the age he’ll … his age was the age I’ll be when he … when I … he’ll …

…

Ah, forget it.

In other news, today I received a MASSIVE stack of books, courtesy of Egmont UK.  The writing I’ve done for them entitled me to some freebies, and because I’m a lazy oik, I hadn’t placed an order in ages.  Last week or so I finally got round to putting an order in, and today the FedEx man came staggering up the path, bow-legged with the weight of the box.

I have now – finally – completely my Mr Men collection, and am the proud owner of over a dozen of Egmont’s other fine publications.  I’ll list some of them soon, if I have the time.

Why wouldn’t I have the time?  Because I got my editorial notes on the latest draft of book one of my horror series today.  The final draft is due by January, so I’m going to be a busy bee over the next few weeks, hammering the current version into shape.

Finally, last night I had the greatest dream I have ever had in my life.  It had everything – giants, robots, rockets, a small family-owned supermarket, and a ninja on a bike.  Bliss.