Good evening, my friends, and welcome to the 260th bloglog! I can't believe I've churned so many words out (although I haven't actually counted them), but I don't intend to cease from doing so any time soon. (d.v.) I have, in fact, enquired of a trusted literary agent as to whether my jottings might appeal to a wider audience in hard copy, but as I received a (very nice) reply suggesting that if I was preparing to visit my bank manager and inform him that I was going to suggest to Sir Richard that I'd be happy to take the responsibility of owning Necker Island from his shoulders I might like to re-think my options, you'll just have to slum it on the 'net. Sorry.

Mr Bryan's been on duty tonight, and there seemed to be a disco going on, which I'm sure appealed to one and all, and I was delighted to know that whatever was, in fact, happening, was removed from Mrs C and me by a thick wall, and that we were on the Holby side of same.

Holby, of course, was tremendous once again. The razor-sharp hatchet man, Mr Hansen, continues with his incisive and calculating moves around the department, Mr Spence seems to have got his life back together again, the female Dr Valentine has just managed to obtain a first-class rotation report from Mr Spence himself, and the male Dr Valentine has now capped all of his previous misdemeanours by being extremely unwise in his judgement in respect of a ten-year-old boy with heart issues. The ending was very sad indeed. I know it's not real, but the actual series is amazingly executed, in my opinion.

It's been our half day today, but you wouldn't know it, as there seem to have been a myriad of things to do. Not that I'm complaining, of course. We 'do get the holidays', of course ...... !

Goodnight, everyone.