So Mrs T gets in from work and says, 'I hope I didn't disturb you too much with my coughing fit last night,' and all falls into place. I slept for a couple of hours last night, after a busy Sunday, and was then awoken by half an hour's coughing and stayed awake for another hour or so after that.
I wasn't in need of Steve Austin type repair work this morning; I was in need of a further supply of sleep. That explains why I have felt better and better as the day has gone on, survived a gym session, started my Surefish column, planned and cooked a meal and felt I had something to contribute to the world.
Will reassess state of thinking about faith tomorrow.
I would really like to sell this house and buy somewhere smaller with land attached and go and be self-sufficient in organic vegetables whilst writing novels, stories and screen-plays.
Not wanting to return to the lounge whilst the sound of East Enders (and the coughing of its solitary viewer) emanates from there I have plucked up the courage to ask the latest producer/speculator what they made of my screen-play script as it has been with them for two months now without comment.
Unsolicited writing requires a very thick skin.