The boiler-man arrived; hot water has been restored; hair will be washed. Relief all round.
I'm three-quarters of the way through How Late It Was, How Late, and beginning to think in foul-mouthed Glaswegian about my own blindness and prison terms and too-small trainers and lack of a guide dog.
Annie Clarkson's doing a giveaway on her blog of Jenn Ashworth's brilliant A Kind Of Intimacy.
And Jenn's reading in Manchester tomorrow, so get your asses over here.
Finally, my friend Daisy went on an anti-fascist protest march in Bolton yesterday and didn't get arrested. She's henceforth to be referred to as my 'hardcore friend' Daisy. Word.