Hello....  morris minor outside, dog at feet, looked down upon by an oil painting of someone, who by rites should be my husband, but is actually my fiance of 12 years.. though the sapphire has recently dropped out of my engagement ring, ... bit of rain from an inky sky over south west london... about to have a bath, having just got in from what is optimistically called a 'training session'.. 16 of us in Richmond park, being tortured by Ray, ex military. 

  The oil painting is at work... he s playing a conductor in an episode of a police series.. loving it, but bad back, when he s at home he has the expression of an Easter Island statue... having had to smile all day at fellow actors, the director, make up ladies trying to tame his locks. He comes home, eats standing up, forces down our newly discovered thing... a vodka martini, waves his arms around a bit with a baton, then collapses gingerly onto bed, muttering something about feeling old. Bad backs make you feel old. Praise the Lord my back o.k.... due to military torture... I do have to contend with a bosom the likes of  not seen since my sensational Nanny Bristol swam in the Portishead open air pool in 1976... I never stop being surprised at the size of it..

   I must take my bath... I ll be back