But if I can ignore the petrol-flavoured grey Slush Puppie currently dribbled all over Oxford’s pavements because it was lovely pristine crunchy white snow before that, I can continue to look on the bright side:

•  presumably it was quite a good idea for a book, then
• I’ve found out now (at the outline stage), not 50,000 words too late
• I get to read it, without the tiresome inconvenience of writing it first (and I don’t even know how this one ends!)
• tomorrow, I’m going to eat some cake while thinking up some daft new idea to play with

Anyone wishing to contribute an inspirational random word (or cake) to facilitate the latter activity, please comment away.  Otherwise I might run with the female Mexican wrestling team who are actually undercover teenage spies.  In space.  I’m fairly sure no one’s written that one yet.

  I’m adoring and envying The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, to the point where I hardly dare pick it up again in case I accidentally finish it, and then it’ll be over.  Spooky, and funny, with a keen child’s-eye view for the peculiarities of the adult world (whether it’s peopled by the living or the dead).  And it just won the Newbery.  See, everyone else thinks you should read it too.  Go on, go on, go on…

  So, undercover wrestlers in space, right?  Meanwhile, Girl Meets Cake is still coming out in the UK in April, and apparently my US publishers are plotting… something. I like it when they do that.

  Devouring S1 of The Wire, which is every bit as remarkable as everyone has told you (grown-ups only, sorry); enjoying Slumdog Millionaire (though the first half is the best bit); perfecting my linguine gamberi; entertaining Extra Small Person and his lovely mummy, who should come back soon for more Pad Thai and learning how to roll over.