I have a new play reading on at a local Fringe Theatre venue in a Guildford pub.
The play is an adaptation of the award-winning The Little Book of Prison by Frankie Owens, and it had its first outing earlier in the week, with author Frankie in the five-strong cast.
I'm currently in the middle of rewrites but it's been a very rewarding process so far.
For a start, I've been under the gun in my professional life with four weeks of 12-hour days at work, so I've had to really discipline myself to get this written during my commuting time over the past six weeks. And this is something I intend to continue.
It's also been a rewarding process because I've taken source material that was very good in the first place, added something of myself into it, and made something very strong. And now myself and the book's author are collaborating on the rewrites and I think we'll end up with something even stronger.
I'm very pleased so far. And we're also talking about developing the play for radio, too, and a few other projects. And we're both mad John Sullivan fans. This time next year, Rodders...
Me and the Missus are in town sat in a coffee shop. This is a regular routine now we are no longer young things going out to pubs.
We are discussing James Gandolfini, the American actor behind Tony Soprano who died recently. We are both fans of The Sopranos so genuinely lament the loss.
'He was only 51.'
'Yes. That's no age,' ponders the Missus.
'He at least had a solid body of work behind him, though.'
'He also had a solid body. And he was only a year or two older than me,' adds the Missus.
'And he wasn't anywhere near as big as you either...'
Weight gags with any women are dangerous territory. And this one could have gone either way. Instead the Missus bursts out laughing. I may well pay later, though...
It's all change at From Beer To Paternity Towers...
I am in the throes of starting a new job while the Missus has taken voluntary redundancy, so I'm currently working longer hours while she's enjoying the prospect of well-deserved time off away from the giddy world of being an editor in the homes magazine market.
I'd already expressed concern that this could mean I would become her latest project to micro-manage, which she denied – and then told me to make her a cuppa while she decided what we were doing at the weekend.
But she is becoming a new woman and starting to do lots of things she's always been interested in, such as pottery and craft stuff, and some stuff that she actively dislikes but wants to do anyway, like running. She even had my tea on the table when I got back from work late three times this week.
I was starting to fear I make have broken her and my feisty, sarcastic girl was in danger of becoming some sort of Stepford Wife.
Then we met in the pub last night and I was greeted by the following words:
'I ran for 30 minutes today and I was sweating like a fat lass after a cake.'
On the way home she then bought me a kebab. Maybe she's not broken after all.
