Earlier I saw a seagull pick up a smaller seagull by its tail and start chucking it about. Then I got home to find a snail on my pot of basil, felling the stem of each plant like a tiny malicious lumberjack. So I hurled him to the ground and stamped him into a paste.
I felt guilty about this for a while, but then another seagull mugged the cat for its biscuits, so I chucked some water over it, and it flew away, squawking. I stood over the cat until it had eaten its fill then went inside, muttering darkly. Later I plan on nailing crooked bits of wood over the window and hugging a shotgun while I rock backwards and forwards.
It's kill or be killed down here. Earlier someone saw at least twenty basking sharks in the bay. I don't think they were basking, I think they were planning, frowning at waterproofed maps of all the local electricity transformers. But I'm ready for them, oh yes.
More meetings in London next week. I would be looking forward to these, except I had two meetings last week. At the first I drank too much and accused all the other GW writers and producer of being 'failed performers'*, then spent the following day on Rob's sofa emerging only to be sick (something of a theme with GW writers at the moment). Then I went to another meeting only to be greeted by a severed arm in a case, which definitely hadn't been there the previous week.However I felt better by then, so was able to say 'Ah, that'll be Other James's with the correct degree of insouciance, which may have helped me win the chance to pitch for a comedic sports movie (I hate sports) with the tag of (culturally significant epic saga) retold in the setting of (ludicrously uncool not-quite-sport). It's unlikely to actually go anywhere, but at the end of the day I had a meeting in a room with a severed arm in a case, and how many people can say that?
* there was an actual proper 'sharp intake of breath' from everyone, it was great, although I feel bad now.