After a weekend where I got very little done, I was hoping to get cracking beefing up some ideas for the MA, today.

I had a eureka moment – one idea had been hiding in plain sight, and it’s something I could happily see myself working on over the course of two years. It would be, in the words of Mr. Capello, a beautiful challenge.

But this morning Little Boy announced he had a sore throat and was running a temperature – “feel my forehead, Daddy!” The necessary phone-calls were made and he’s no  laying on the sofa not two yards  from me as I type this, barking orders every twenty seconds.

Those ideas will perhaps have to wait a day or so, I think, as I rush from room to room.

My BAFTA congratulations, in the meantime, go to Ms. Winslet, a cracking, fearless actress; and Mr. Boyle, a director whose unpretentious enthusiasm for his work, and jovial humility, always makes a refreshing change on the promotional whirlygig.

By the way, the Lily Allen album is rather wonderful, isn’t it?

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