New Year, new-ish me

I'm still not enormously better, (thank you dear readers for all your lovely get well soon messages), but have returned to London and am bed-hopping around the city. Goodness that sounds much more exciting than the reality. Which is not a different man each night but rather that if I turn up for supper, I take a little bag with my nightie, cashmere blanket, industrial moisturiser, hot water bottle & dressings - the glamour!- and my friends get to put me up for the night, as there is a limit to how much I can abuse my little sister's hospitality. I am itching to return to Manhattan but the punitive cost of US healthcare means that I am stuck in London 'till I have healed.

I was supposed to go prop up the bar at the Groucho this evening (a la recherche du temps perdu) but CA has the dreaded Novo-Virus, so rather thankfully I am staying in. (My slow recuperation means that socialising isn't a great idea.) Still, cutting down on the going out means I have plenty of time for writing, doing my endless tax return and making New Year's Resolutions. Nothing extraordinary there: more thrift, less laziness, never ever going into Primark again, writing even more, maybe investigating having a Proper Job instead of my gadfly freelance existence.