When I was about 10 I had a brief stint in the Scouts (yes, really !) One week at school I wrote in my diary that we had had a scouting excursion at the weekend, and one of the guys had got in some kind of trouble- something incredibly minor like being late for a bus or something. I was aware that my teacher was actually the mother of said guy, but didn't suss that this might be something he'd want to keep from her. Before the next scout meeting, he and his mate got me up against a wall and told me in no uncertain terms to avoid repeating any such thing.

At the risk of repeating the same thing, I'll just say that work at the moment is fucking trying. I'm also knackered from doing a gig last night. Whatever, I'm ensconced in my boudoir, Gene Clark is on the stereo and the water is on for a hot bath. Flump.