The hours are stretching like the sheets on the bed

William Blake, The Ancient of Days. 'Nuff said.

"We'll hunt for a third tiger now, but like the others this one too will be a form of what I dream, a structure of words, and not the flesh and bone tiger that beyond all myths paces the earth. I know these things quite well, yet nonetheless some force keeps driving me in this vague, unreasonable, and ancient quest, and I go on pursuing through the hours another tiger, the beast not found in verse." J.L. Borges, The Other Tiger, 1960.

There's something about this quote that captures my late night, wistful-at-the-edges state of mind.

I've taken Jimmy B's advice - just another on the list of things to thank him for, including for the oh-so-welcomed comments here - and invested in a bottle of Bells whisky (the sassenach takes note of her recent spelling lessons). If you've never dabbled in this sip of scottish heaven, do it now. It's the late night writer's best friend for a reason and my early hours cigarettes have been waiting on a glass of Bell's as company, I realise, since I first took nicotine to my lungs.

While on the subject of Jimmy - I've recommended him before and I'll do it again. Follow the link on the right and you'll understand why. His recent posts on his wife and father showcase perfectly what the blogosphere is for. Keep up the good work Jimmy. I'm sorry I don't have the chance to comment in your pages more often, but I continue to lurk silently in the shadows of your site, and besides, you have more than enough company on your comments page. In fact, if I wasn't so sweetly inebriated, I'd probably be jealous.

Now, back to my personal quest for the perfect punchbag, and I'm not talking about my ex's.