My Secret Rapture script has now become my constant companion. I feel quite fond of its perky orange cover and increasingly dog-eared corners. And it's wondrously compact. A little maybe slightly larger than A5 skinny little book. Poles apart from hauling about an A4 ring binder with notes about everyman and everything.

So I was trotting into work this morning, nose buried in it, muttering muttering away to myself. Because conveniently I've discovered that if I mutter aloud, somehow I remember better. Crossed the nearby crossroads. And the lollipop man who has heretoforth remained mute called out "still not finished it..?"

No indeed. But I'm working on it.