We just got back from South Africa today. I'm very tired - 11 hour flight through the night, didn't sleep at all. We had an incredible time, probably the most exciting holiday I've ever had (not that there's much competition - Geneva, canal boat holidays, erm, yep, safari beats them all hands down) - and pretty much everything was paid for by Mary's brother! Even better. Right now I'm feeling the post-holiday blues. I do believe we missed the heatwave over here entirely! Got back to a grey and drizzly England.

Finished reading Factotum by Bukowski, which was good, but proabably the weakest of the three I've read. Maybe I need to move onto another writer for a while. In fact, I have. Or rather returned to an old favourite, Milan Kundera. Have started reading Immortality by the great Czech, after much badgering from Mary and others who say it is his finest. I've only read about thirty pages and I know I'm going to love it, although I think it has the capacity to fuck me up in the head. More so. Given how I'm feeling. Vagueness etc.