It's christmas time

Holiday! No more work this year. Whahay! Let's go crazy apeshit.

It's sad that my first thought wasn't: great, I can laze about drinking beer all day. But: the wide screen on my new computer will be perfect for transcribing brewing records.

I've promised Alexei that we'll finish "Vive la Résistance!" while I'm off. He knocked up a story board yesterday. I rejected all his wood chipper scenes. (Where does he get his ideas? He hasn't seen Fargo.) We eventually came to a compromise. He can make his own blood and gore version. Mine will be 1950's stiff-upper-lip British style.

Barclay Perkins, Barclay Perkins. . . . . No, still doesn't work. I'm hoping that I'm trapped in a total immersion game and that's my escape password. Bum. What could the password be? I thought I'd worked out all the clues. This couldn't be reality, could it?

Barclay Perkins is, as I've already told you as many times as your granny's told you how to suck eggs, the secret-agent hero of "Vive la Résistance!".