I'm off to Bulgaria tomorrow for a week. Have you ever been to Bulgaria? I haven't, though everybody I've spoken to lately either has a holiday home over there or has a horror story about a holiday home that went wrong and never got built. Anyway. We're not in it for our property portfolio; I'm in it for the chance to mooch around eating cake in a whole new city and Andy's in it for an art exhibition. That's why we're going - he's got a show on. So I'll be entertaining myself (and Seren) for much of the time. It used to be that when I went on holidays I'd do a bastard-load of research and arrive armed with an itinerary and a plan; this time I've got an out-of-date Rough Guide to Sofia and a nine-week old baby who won't really care about art galleries and fancy cafes. I'll be dragging her to them anyway, because that's how I'm rocking the parenting shizzle, yo. Ahem. There'll also be an opening night at the art gallery with wine and a bunch of Bulgarian arty types. I might do some novel-editing while I'm there, but I'm making no promises. Everything's moving very slowly on the novel-front, but that's okay. Today I went on a bike-ride for the first time since having the baby (I say bike-ride; I went to Asda and back, but dudes, it still counts) and compared to the last time I pedaled down the road, thirty-seven weeks pregnant, it was damn comfortable. What else? We went to Emma Jane Unsworth's book launch on Thursday, which was ace (the book's ace too). And Tom Fletcher and Beth Ward had a baby last Wednesday - welcome, Jake! Right. I should probably pack now, or some such nonsense. To Bulgaria!