It's Monday evening and I've just finished work. I will not pick up a pen until Friday next week. Well, apart from signing the bill at a beach restaurant in Sao Raphael, after a seafood platter, a glass of wine and a final Drambuie as the evening waves roll gently on to the sandy shore about twenty yards away. We sit outside on the balcony, of course, and watch the sun go down as the lights of the sardine boats flicker into life. You're also allowed to smoke out there.
I can't remember the last time I've had ten days off work, although I'm pretty sure that, somewhere on the flight or by the pool, an idea for Andy Capp, Beau or Horace will butt its way into my head. Don't care. The point is, I don't HAVE to think of anything. Bliss.
