Day 51: the fifty-firstiest day of them all

I keep staying up until 4am to get these dumb scripts finished, and I've not finished the next one, but I also can't stay up till 4am, so I'll have to just come here and write this instead. Which is fine. Everything is fine.

I got up late today and then played Super Mario with Mike before he had to go to work. He kept being Cat Mario and running up the finish pole and stealing the crown from me, but then I picked him up when he was distracted and threw him over the edge of the level, so fair's fair.

Jiggs was home with his haircutting stuff so he gave me a trim after Mike left, then I did writing and watched the England game and ate a meal of beansprouts and courgette on portobello mushrooms in tomatoes and spices that Phace had cooked, then wrote more and drank tea and now here we are.

I'm dead tired all the time at the moment, but I feel pretty good. I mean, I feel all right. 51 days without a drink. 51 blog posts. That's really good.

OK. I'm going to bed. Here's a picture of Tim Martin, the chairman and owner of the Wetherspoon's pub chain. Emphasis on "chain". Night night.