I discovered this morning that I can’t listen to a podcast and write at the same time – I end gazing into space and listening rather than writing anything.

A few days ago I made the colossal mistake of setting foot into the “social internet” in search of hopefully kindred spirits – or “unicorns” as I labelled them at the time – fellow recorders of life’s exhalations.

I woke with a start at 7:30am this morning – to the sound of a door being slammed downstairs.

I started writing a blog before the word “blog” had entered common parlance.

It occurred to me this morning that I’m not so much living in an escape room – rather an escape life.

Some years ago – while chatting with an old friend (and wonderful singer) in Oklahoma, the subject of music came up, and I asked what she was listening to – for recommendations.

While writing this (after procrastinating famously for the last hour), the clock is busy ticking past 1am – or rather, it did so about 10 minutes ago.

It’s Saturday morning, and you find me sitting in the middle of the huge Wetherspoons in town – escaping the house for a cooked breakfast and a “bottomless” coffee.

After burning the candle at both ends over the last few days, I pushed back a little today.

This morning you find me holed up in a booth at our local Wetherspoons – part of a huge pub chain that stretches across the country.