Two pieces of good news this month:  My friend Kate gave birth to a baby boy, Eric.  And I've been commissioned to write a play.

On a more sombre note, I've lost the will to drink.  This is a shame as one of the compensations of being a writer is that  it's acceptable to be drunk quite a lot of the time, even if you are a woman.  You don't even have to be witty in an Oscar Wilde/Dorothy Parker kind of a way.  In practice, constant quipping while drunk can get on everyone's nerves.  The best plan is to practice a special sardonic expression and to make sure everyone around you is as drunk as you or more drunk.  When they wake up the next day, they will remember looking over at you and seeing  a wry smile and they will imagine that you were very good company, both witty and intelligent, and that - judging by the hangover - they were merely too oafishly drunk to appreciate your aphorisms, let alone remember them.

 Apart from the drinking, there are lots of other reasons to want be a writer, of course - for example,  advancing age is often believed to bring wisdom and is therefore considered an advantage rather than a hindrance.  With writing, there is no biological clock and no body facism.

So, hooray for being a writer.

Here's to 2007.