Just me, a nice slug of Laphroig and my desk. A moment for silent reflection. And raising my spirits in a very literal way. Ooh, that's nice. All burny and iodoney. How I like my whisky. In a just world, I could to afford to drink it every week of the year, rather than just at Christmas.
You can see a few of my see a few of my essential writing tools in the picture - how many can you identify?
Now, what to do with that last boiled egg? Execute execution. Or was that executive execution? Something with lots of exes in. A bit like a 19th-century brewing record. This whisky is really warming me up.
Shat to do with that lemon revealed next. Dead exciting, isn't it?