The moon on a stick.

Today seems to have been a busy day, largely doing all those little administrative things that leave you with a feeling of having done a lot and achieved nothing of note. I was in Bury in the morning, getting some beauty treatment (don’t ask) and then had to head off down to Whitefield to drop off a piece of model railway equipment at a shop. The guy who owns the shop bought it and a few other things, then forgot to pick it up when he left. He wasn’t there, but my ears got held hostage by the lacky behind the counter whose pulling technique seemed to revolve around showing me lots of the part built kits he had been working on.

I eventually managed to acheive escape velocity and made my way off to Kearsley to a well-known car parts factors, and bought a whole load of new bulbs for my trusty Swedish tank. I warn you now – I have all my rear lights working next time it is dark! I even got some spares (because the little buggers always blow when you least expect it) and a new oil filter because I think I need to give the inside of its engine a clean not before too long.

I called in at the garage on the way back to pump up my tyres. I don’t know what it is about cars that I own, but at least two of the tyres will always have a slow puncture. Do I drive on particularly abrasive bits of roads? Most people I know never check their tyre pressures, but I seem condemned to have to pump up two of mine regardless of what car I have or when the tyres were replaced for all eternity. I met a friend at the petrol station and we had a good old chin wag about nothing in particular, and that took up even more time. But it was worth it (he has a very pert arse…. ahem!).

I’ve been producing yet more paperwork to send off to agents. My aim for this week has been to send off to two per day. As it happens, both yesterday and today I’ve managed three, with an email submission in addition to the hard copy submissions on each day. It makes me feel a little more productive than I probably have been. I just have to post the two hard copies that are beside me now, but it isn’t too far to the post box (I can see it from my office window).

In a stroke of luck it seems Fate has been kind to me. I discovered that the ten stamps I bought actually turned out to be twelve in number. I guess the lady at the Post Office didn’t realise they were six to a row instead of five in her book. They weren’t cheap stamps either – 90p each – so there’s a nice little £1.80 unexpectedly. Things aren’t all bad. Actually, last night I got mooned by the most hairy arsed drunkard at the traffic lights. Now there’s an odd experience. I wound the window down and yelled something rude at him. Something about a hairy banana that had been slapped once too many times. He seemed a little crestfallen. But what else was I supposed to say? It isn’t often that some complete stranger presents their hairy arse cheeks to your car window for inspection.