On the Edge

This time last week, I was congratulating myself on a month of healthy book sales. At last, it looked as if my business had recovered from the two months I'd lost to illness, earlier in the year. Little did I know that within days, it would all go horribly wrong.

I won't bore you with a lengthy account. The short answer is that my courier company decided to shut down my account, as a business that trades from the same farm as me owes them a lot of money. I have always paid my bills on time, but they wouldn't budge:

"Please be advised that as a business we are not totally convinced that there isn't a link between your company and ********."

I offered to provide evidence that I was a completely separate business, but their reply more or less said that they had neither the time nor the inclination to look into it.

I looked at the sackfuls of uncollected orders and wondered what I was going to do. An internet business can go down very quickly if its orders aren't fulfilled in time. Waiting until an account with a new courier was set up wasn't an option.

In the end, I took the only sensible option available: I bought an awful lot of stamps.

It has been a challenging few days, but I have taken my inspiration from a pot outside a neighbouring unit, where people throw their cigarette ends:

Like the weed, perhaps I will triumph over adversity. It would be good to find a courier that, like Steve Austin, is better, stronger and faster. One that doesn't routinely lose parcels and delivers promptly to the time-conscious Germans.

When things are difficult at work, I usually look forward to going home, but for the last few weeks our house has been taken over by two psychotic male kittens, pictured below:

(I should point out that the second kitten is not actually locked in the stove, but is merely reflected in the glass)

We have taken to hiding upstairs behind closed doors, while they demolish sofas, disconnect telephone cables and sit on our modem until it overheats. I'm not sure if getting two cats was a good idea.

On Saturday evening they became so manic, we ended up fleeing to the safety of Brighton beach, for a fish and chip supper.

On the subject of Brighton, I saw these beautiful magic lantern slides in Hove Museum yesterday. I was trying to explain to my younger son how miraculous they must have been in a world without cinema or television. He seemed to enjoy them as much as I did.

My older son remains in his room. He hasn't been out for nine months, apart from a few medical appointments and a trip to his grandmother's. My wife is very good and never loses hope, but I have felt mine slip away and feel desperately sad that he has lost a large part of his childhood.

Perhaps I need to distract myself with a hobby. I often find old guides to various pastimes, but this book, which I found last week, would probably only lead to more trouble:

Wind, Sand and Bars

This morning my wife and I took our younger son to the Brighton Sand Sculpture Festival. I'm not an aficionado of sand, but my wife thought it sounded intriguing. Apparently, the sculptures are made from sand and water alone, with no cheating.

I was expecting a queue. Instead, we found ourselves in what appeared to be an abandoned building site, with cranes and diggers in the background.

Fortunately, the sand sculptures more than lived up to our expectations:

It was an extraordinarily windy day and as I looked at the choppy sea, I thought of another June 5th, 70 years ago, when bad weather forced the Allies to delay the Normandy landings for 24 hours.

After the sand sculptures, we walked along the seafront and found a fish and chip bar, manned by a terrifying man with a tattooed neck. In the background, tinny pop songs were playing. It was the sort of music I normally hate, but at seasides and funfairs it always adds to the general cheer.

Three tracksuited, pot-bellied men in their 60s joined us. "Look, it's the Sopranos..." my wife whispered and for a moment, I was expecting them to ask for a cwawfee. Disappointingly, they turned out to be German: Die Sopranen.

Eating fish and chips on a windy seafront may not have been the height of glamour, but I enjoyed the brief illusion of being an ordinary family doing normal things. I was pleased that we were able to give our younger son a day out, albeit a short one. We arrived home feeling bouyed-up by the experience.

An hour later the phone rang. My wife answered it and I continued valuing books; then I heard her tone of voice change and prepared myself for bad news.

This afternoon in Brighton...

A new arrival, paying the traditional act of homage to the City of Brighton and Hove

His exclusive new address, only a hundred yards from the seafront

Found in a hole in a wall: 'Save the Winged Badger Shark'

A lock of hair from King Edward IV (1461-83) in Brighton Museum

He used to work in the City

A young couple, probably from London, on a day out.
They sat in silence.

FACT: Britain has more CCTV cameras per person than any other country in the world

Bestselling crime writer Peter James wanted to give something back to the boys in blue and decided to buy them a police car with a small, understated reference to its donor.