Forget about the price tag

Those who know me well will be aware that I have a sort of phobia of stickers. By stickers, I mean price tags and those dreadful things you find attached to pieces of fruit.  It's an odd phobia to have and I guess it's more of an aversion. When I see a sticker, I need to peel it off and roll it into a tiny ball for fear that I'll find it at a later point attached to me somewhere. 

Imagine my horror, therefore, when I went into the little newsagents next to the Post Office to find the man behind the counter with a price tag actually in his mouth! He was sucking a great big yellow sticker. It kept appearing on his tongue and then disappearing again into the dark recesses of his gob. The bile started pouring into my mouth and I was forced to throw my shopping at Nathan and run into the street to escape. Pathetic, really, but then again, I don't understand why people have issues with spiders and rats. 

Speaking of rats, Cas seems to be doing okay. He's still not eating very much, and routinely turns his nose up at anything we try to give him with painkillers in them. In fairness, the medicine tastes foul and if we manage to dupe him into eating something with it inside, the poor tyke rushes away in a panic and starts wiping his mouth on his bedding. It's really difficult to watch, because he's obviously in a great deal of pain. 

I spent the morning in East London, meeting all sorts of fascinating people on the White City Estate, where we're about to start work on our next BBC film. This is the scary part for me. Knitters call it COA, or "cast on anxiety." In a month's time I'll be staring at an empty piece of manuscript, wondering how on earth I'm going to write a song cycle... And feeling a little like a talentless fraud. Yes, even on the slow march towards 40 with a clutch of awards to my name, I still often wonder if I'm about to be unmasked!