At the end of a manic working day, there's nowt much more enjoyable than getting home, cracking the chilled bottles, inhaling deeply from a ciggie and logging on to the blog.

Just thought I'd make a note of that, in case I ever forget.

I lurve browsing about and having a butcher's at what everyone's been up to, adding my two cents' worth here and there.

A couple of years ago, an old and now sadly departed (well, he was in his late-70s) friend said to me and my missus: "I know I shouldn't sit here at my age drinking scotch and listening to Mozart every night. But it's just so bloody enjoyable."

It has stuck in my mind.

Because, although not entirely unexpected, (and, much as I would like to, I don't actually compare our outpourings with those of Wolfgang Amadeus's) there has been a bit of strange angst in my friends' group of late.

Can't say I see the point in turning a pleasurable relaxation into yet another source of stress and upset.

Still.

Each to their own, eh?

Could be a long night...