It's been one of those chilly, winter days where the the appeal of Fleetwood's ancient slate-pavements and cobbled back streets suddenly doesn't seem as important as unbroken hips and badly scuffed knees. I haven't seen or read any news items today so I've no idea what El Presidento Bush and/or Blair the Merciless are up to. I've also have no idea what member of the royal family has done what to whom...and quite frankly I don't give a stuff. I'm knackered and covered in sawdust, plaster, sellotape and glue. This afternoon (with a little help from my brother) we attempted to erect a shelf to accomodate Michelle's archaeology books in my bedroom. Handiwork of this nature is not my forte. After much cursing, hammering of thumbnails, drilling of hidden pipes, shattering of bricks, splintering of wooden struts and fracturing of plaster walls, we now have a lobsided shelf reminiscent of a background prop from the Poseidon Adventure as seen on television last night. And very proud of it I am as well. Admittedly we bent all the original screws in ways that are impossible to determine and we had to replace them with two-foot long rivets from an oil-tanker. But now not only do we have somewhere to keep Michelle's homework (providing we stick a doorwedge underneath it all at one side) but the old bloke who lives next door has five new coathooks in his bedroom wall (which he doesn't know about yet) and a shower above his bed (which he also doesn't know about but the good people at Lancashire Water Board have been informed and will be round a fortnight on Tuesday to look into the problem).