Wold you do this?

Would you work eight extra hours while you’re sick, on fifteen minutes’ notice?
Because apparently I should have.

In any case.

I have finished The Naked God, and it’s like a genie popped out of nowhere to grant me all my wishes. I really loved that book.

In other news, Albert was an Asshole Royal last night – dragging me out to his friends’ place until ten when he knows I have to be at work at six, and then fucking off to some other friends untill bloody midnihgt. He also said they phoned him to go, but I was tired, not deaf. They never phoned him. So either he went there out of his own will, or he never went there at all. And thus was out doing godknowswhat with godknowswho. He also smoked all my cigarettes.

To sum up: I hate my job, I love the book, and Albert is a pain.

No war today, come back tomorrow.

So there was a meeting about the agebanding issue between Phil Pullman and several representatives of the publishers. From his description (which you will have read if you’d signed up, as it was sent out in an e-mail last night), it sounds like the publishers are basically frlipping their authors the bird in the politest no-we’re-totally-not-doing-it kind of way.

And Mugabe is not actually declaring war. This is a goodness.

But the most ultimate goodness of all is: I am reading the Naked God by Peter F. Hamilton. The last book in the series, and even though I have been warned that it’s one of the most blatant deus ex machina in human history, I am still adoring it.

Herewith my wishes:

• Something really horrible happens to Quinn Dexter. And I do mean horrible.
• Louise is okay.
• We see Fletcher again.
• Something really, really horrible happens to Quinn Dexter.