For the past two days I've done sweet FA. My only client is delighted with her manuscript. And we meet to thrash out detail tomorrow. On Monday, I'll be back back in panic mode. For the moment, I'm chilled. Last night the run of theatrical bad luck ended. With Deadeye at the Soho Theatre. Some of the casting was odd. But some just perfect. One man said of the male lead, "He was like a piece of music playing out in front of me." Fantastic:-) Earlier, I'd attended the launch reception. None of the sponsors of the piece, part of a two week festival, bothered to show. How wonderful to be so rich, you can hand over thousands and not care how it's spent! I decided, there, that one reception a week is enough. So today I've sent an apology to Children in Need. To say I'm too ill to attend tomorrow night's jolly. Lots of hammy stars glowing from easy karmic kudos. I took the kids to the actual show two years ago. Cher and Rod Stewart both sang. "These are musical icons," I whispered. They nodded politely. Then, a wizened orange man called David Dickinson, walked on. I'd never heard of him. The girls went crazy! They are compulsive watchers of Bargain Hunt repeats... This year, the invite was party only. And it falls on our weekend together. So we'll make a donation and head out for Borat and a curry instead. This evening I'm attending a talk by the turbanned warrior queen from a previous blog. The one who transforms the lives of kids at the sharp end. It seems to me that there's no logic in my supporting other children unless my conscience is clear about my own...