Despite the outwards signs of a jet-setting lifestyle and the high visibility industry in which I've chosen to be industrious, this is not the kind of profession to enter if you wish to make a lot of money. There are perks and moments of glamour, but all too often it's a hard slog. Ask any writer and they'll tell you that however shiny the finished product, there's blood, sweat and years that go into it. Ask any freelance writer and after the weeping stops they'll also tell you that they do it for the love, because they couldn't do it for the money. But they'd still appreciate that cheque, please. The one that's always in the post.

And, of course, there's the Tax Man. I have an excellent accountant who has seen me right through most of the last decade and hepled me to legitimately avoid paying too much tax on my molehill of actual Net income. However even he didn't actually tell me that because I earned slightly more in the last tax year than previous (molehill duplex, here I come) that it put me over a very specific threshold which means that as a self-employed worker I now have to pay part of what they guesstimate the NEXT year's will be, or the most recent year (taxes not due yet). Bottom line: the money I have to cover the expected tax is now about a 1/4 of what the taxman is demanding. Even Bottomer line: if the rules are this arbitrary, they'll eventually get it, in my own good time, in when I can afford it.

In the meantime, just got an aftercare questionnaire from the hospital that treated me for the 'splodey-head which doesn't ask me how I'm doing, but what colour my skin is and what my religion might be. Deep Joy. I'm so tempted to not return it, but they saved my life, so I probably will. I'll put 'Jedi'.

Just finished sorting the UK show Being Human (vampires and werewolves and ghosts, oh my!) for both Jill and Kerry, arranged my pre-release copy of Michael Connelly's new novel and watched the new Dead Like Me TV movie.

Looks like I Reap what I Owe.