You are forgiven

It's been a weekend. Interesting, challenging, hellish, October - you pick the adjective.

Bokbier Festival. The books I bought prove I was there. I may tell you more about it tomorrow. But I'm not very reliable.

All the feretting around I like to do comes at a price. That price is work. In a perfect world, each of you would post me a tenner every day. But we live in another, less charitable place.

(Just in case anyone does fancy bunging a few used notes in an envelope, my address is available on request.)

If you don't like what I write, what I do what I think - the title applies to you.

"If I had a hammer . . . "

I did start telling the kids what I would do with a hammer. Then I realised it might prompt inappropriate behaviour. Would you like you know the words to the song? It's very like the dull old folk song, but with a Quentin Tarrantino twist. Again, it's available on application. Remember to stuff your request with used fivers.

Kids . . . no don't go and fetch a real hammer ... no . . no... NOOOOO ,,, NOOOOOOO ,,, ARRRRGGGHHH ...