ACHIEVING THE DREAM

For years, I dreamed of giving up the day job. In my dreams I'd sit at home in a shaft of sunlight, golden retriever at my feet, and write for England (and Scotland, Wales, and Ireland too).

I eventually achieved my dream by default. I was diagnosed with some little known syndrome that was totally incompatible with working in the British NHS; although, of course, most things are incompatible with working in the modern NHS.

My escape came in the form of Behcet's Syndrome, of which more later. The dream sort of came true - I do sit and write all day but not, as I had imagined, in that shaft of sunlight. Instead I write in the murky mist of a waterlogged west country. The golden retriever, by the way, is a ginger tom.

Words are wonderful, playing with them is peachy, paying the mortgage is tantamount. Now I write to pay Northern Rock - or should that be the Government?