So:

How much later can later be...?

Actually, all has gone quite well today - the course is quite intensive, which is good for me; the commuting is almost fun, really - it takes a whole 15 minutes longer than it takes me to get to work *thinks about that for a while.*  Wonder if I could do it full time? Thing is, I love London so much, I'd just get distracted all the time. When I do get round to my novel, it will, of course, be the tale of the alternative me - you know, the one who didn't get married at 23, and went off to live alone. I'm certain I'd have ended up living and working in London. I even have a vague idea what the story would be...

Depression Index I'm almost scared to break the spell. I'm still up (no giggling at the back, there) and although I've seen a few ripples of discontent, it's pretty much all positive... I wonder if the caffeine experiment is part of the effect? Aside: Damn, it's hard being caffeine-free when on a course in Central London - every third shop is a coffee-house; we break every hour or so for "tea or coffee" - I smell it everywhere I go. I love it so - it just don't love me. I think. So there is still no enumerated poultry around, but I feel good.