After two weeks living according to “the new regimen” I've come to the conclusion that I'm in desperate need of good luck and for my life to change. Tickle an Oddie by the chin and you have a happy man. Only not every man can be pacified so easily. We Madeley men are of bulkier intellectual stock. As Judy and I compete for the literary honours, I've taken an early lead. My new novel is 20,000 words long and Judy is lagging far behind. Yet in the time I've been away from you, I've been feeling utterly miserable. It's been going on for too long. I need to vent.
You might have noticed my silence on the blog and the less-than-stellar performances I've been putting into the afternoon show. I'm finding it difficult to blog. I lack the usual spark. Does it have something to do with the ongoing problems of my one-handed assistant? Oddly enough, I don't think it does. Is it Stephen's absence from my life or the solitary habits of Oddie when spring approaches? I think it more likely. But I also suspect that my 7AM starts are destroying me. 'Eye of the Storm 2' has the mendacity of a flesh eating virus. I find that I struggle through days caring less and less about the world around me. There's a grim satisfaction in climbing in bed at night, so tired that my worries won't keep me awake and happy that the virus has left me with my limbs.
I suppose there's no disguising the indignity of the work, of the place where my talents have brought me. I want to get back to being the old Richard, writing too much and telling you all about my days spent in celebrity adventure. I really do. Instead, I've taken to secluding myself at night in the garage where I've started to hatch plans. I'm slowly turning into Elberry but without the intellectual vigour to accompany my moods. This work breeds solitary men with grievances who bookmark the addresses of mail order retailers who sell hunting knives and crossbows.