Holy mother - it's August tomorrow. How did that happen. Statement not question. Truth be told, the last 'event' I can remember in recent memory might even be Christmas. Today, I had to revisit my (still) great idea of not owning anything as I wander through life. This is because Eleanor made me play a silly game called "If you could move back home to Wales, where would you like to live?" - which prompted searching online around some of my old stomping grounds, and I happened to find this:

and this:

and, er... this:

All of those pictures link to the estate agent pages. Right now I am feeling pretty homesick which is something of a surprise considering I couldn't wait to get the hell out of the place 25 years ago. Then again, at the time I was living in a single room not much bigger than a dog kennel in a house shared by eight other guys I didn't even know, in a town that was on its knees - so my prospects where pretty damn grim to say the least. It was the right thing to do at the time.

25 years later, I'm kind of thinking that in reality, I might actually like to be that successful. Maybe that's what I'm missing. Maybe I should really want this sort of stuff to make it happen, because when you don't want anything at all... that's very easy to get - and exactly what I have got.

Perhaps I should plan the biggest ever DaVinci Code killer and then cough up some small change from it to own something like this - (where, if I have my geography right, I would have royal neighbours not too far away):

Who wouldn't want dolphins in their back fucking garden!

I am buoyed by the fact that I have seen some of the houses successful authors own - but then, they all have finished books that sold well.

This is definitely a two cigarette problem.