7th November 2003. Sabbatical is turning into a gap year on here, as you've noticed. Not deliberate, trying to clear my mind of last fiction - which defeats the object of trying to write something memorable, I guess. More photos. Whoo. Going to New York for New Year. I've never been, so expect faux-CBGBs posturing or William Klein. Memories of the US are of running away and getting lost in San Francisco and playing with tarot cards in Las Vegas hotel rooms. Not the place for pre-teens unless you're into roulette, cocaine, hookers. And they possibly are these days.