This is the view I've been looking at all day. The furthest I've traveled from my desk was down three floors to leave Mr F a change of clothing. Acqua alta this morning and no sirens. Well, why would there be? Hell, let people just go out there and get soaked. I'm the lucky one. I didn't need to leave home. But I've reached that stage of the working year when I hardly dare look up from my desk. Five weeks until the manuscript needs to be in good enough shape to deliver. Last evening I realised just how obsessed I've become when I found myself speaking in the voice of my narrator. Erk. Tomorrow I really must leave the building and get a life.

News of another cancer death. Another friend robbed of retirement and time with their grandchildren. Another very good reason to go join my husband for a glass of bubbles, quit griping and be grateful for another (wet) day in paradise.