I was in the book section of the Virgin Megastore last sunday and it dawned on me that I'd written or collaborated to at least 3 books that were on the shelves... It used to be a dream of mine, you know, to publish books, etc. Strangely, I didn't really feel any sense of accomplishment, just realised it meant I'd spent hours in front of Pommy the Laptop, typing away.

Oh, and I've officially become *that* journalist. You know, the one who's got a finger in every pie and works more than 3 of his colleagues combined. The mercenary type who'll write about anything as long as there's a cheque at the end.

And I don't care. It's not like I've been shy with my ambitions. I don't work to flatter my already large ego. I work because I need to feel busy. Because I like making money which gives me a relative sense of safety.

It's funny because in the USA, no one would feel uncomfortable with being ambitious... But in France, it's still considered like an anomaly, like something you should hide and pretend instead that you're this humble little craft artist who works only for their personal satisfaction. I hate this sort of hypocrisy.

Bettie, who's curled up on my lap, has just purred in approval. She's her mother's daughter.

Blythou out.