I fell this week, on Holloway Road. Still not sure how exactly. Maybe a passing motorbike handle looped through the handle of my bag as I was crossing the road, I don’t know. I was tired and something jogged me off balance. Anyway, the thing is, even though the pavement rushed to meet me and whacked me on the chin – I can still see that close-up of pavement with some of my blood on it – even though I did go to pieces a bit and worry if I would permanently have an enormous lopsided jaw – I got up, went home and iced the cuts and bumps. And now I’m back getting on with things. How is this related to writing? Maybe it’s like getting rejection letters. (One or two of those this week too.) But you have to keep going, don’t you?