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Monday 6th January 2020


I made stodgy progress with script 4 of Relativity, but I did send out some guest requests to my absolute dream guests for RHLSTP. One went out to Paul McCartney’s people, who had last time suggested the prospect was “interesting”. But they got back straight away to say that he wasn’t available. 
The real Paul McCartney would have done it. Faul is too scared of what I will wheedle out of him. Sure he littered the Beatles music with clues that he isn’t the real Paul, but he still doesn’t want people to know., I miss the real Paul McCartney. Even though he died before I was born.
My high ambition should give you an idea of my line of attack.
Just at close of play I got another email from the manager of a long-wished for guest and this time it turned out they were free and up for it. It is my absolute dream guest. If you are a badger you will have had an email about it already (or you can check the news on the members’ area of If you’re not a badger, then become a badger. Because this is the first London RHLSTP that has sold out more or less straight away without the guest names being made public knowledge.
I am still not going to reveal the name just yet. But I am excited and terrified in equal measure. 
And I am hopeful that this won’t be the only massive name of the London run. So don’t goal hang - book now.
2020 has started very strongly for me so I can only assume that God is about to smite us all. Sorry that you are all going to get taken out as part of His exquisite mockery of my dreams.
Please hold off World War Three til June mate. I’ve got some cracking stuff coming up. This could be the best year of my life.
After the year I met my wife, the year I got married, the year my daughter was born and the year my son was born (<aside> it’s better than all those).

On my morning dog walk, (still listening to and being buffeted around emotionally by the amazing The Testaments by Margaret Atwood) I was reminded of the cruelty of the world (as if I needed a reminder as I listened to the dystopian version of America that isn’t too far from the possible near future), Wolfie scrabbled around in the undergrowth and pulled out a plump rodent, maybe a dormouse. It hung in her mouth and I told her to drop it. The rodent then lay on the floor, very much alive, but very distressed, it’s legs flailing around. Wolfie loves to chase stuff but is pretty consistent at not catching anything, so she was probably as surprised as this chubby mouse. 
But I had to work out what to do. Was the dormouse shaken, but fine and would it scamper on its way, or was it in pain and needed dispatching. In this day and age if you deal with a distressed animal in the wrong manner (and then tweet about it) it can blot your copybook forever. You become the guy who bludgeoned a fox with a baseball bat whilst wearing a kimono or the man who stamped on an overweight rodent whilst listening to a dystopian novel. 
Of course I could have stamped on it and not told anyone, but a) I don’t get much to write about in blogs these days and b) if Atwood teaches us anything it is that nothing we do in Gilead goes unobserved. 
I thought I should probably kill it, but as usual my squeamishness overcame any moral compass and I walked on. My main concern was to get Wolfie away so the mouse could not be toyed with further. But was leaving the mouse the wrong thing to do? Would I become the man who let a poor creature suffer because I was too cowardly to dispatch it? 
It’s a moral maze.
I was coming back that way within minutes so I would see how things panned out. And the rodent wasn’t there when I got back. So it had either got to its feet and gone on its way, or already been recycled by nature. 
Either way I was out of the woods on this one. I can’t see this coming  back to destroy me.

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