I AM a writer...and then some.

53 articles and poems published online and in print. 80 in all (that I know of), including reprints.

An inventory of my published work has thrown up some astonishing numbers. My Clips Files do not have duplicates, so I know the numbers are accurate.

This is reassuring. It reminds me of what I enjoy doing most - putting the words swirling around in my head, down on paper. It's also a reminder to myself that I AM a writer. Surely this is proof enough? Do I need to have a Top 10 bestseller to be accepted? Or perhaps a byline on Page 1 of the TOI? (That too will come...)

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For some reason, over the past few days, I've been looking forward to growing older. Something tells me (very strongly) that the best years of my life are yet to happen. I've promised myself that someday (soon), I will let go of vanity and let my hair grow gray. Maybe on my 39th birthday, or maybe even the 34th. I'd love to have hair like Judi Dench. I love that look.

When will I be brave enough?

Haven't decided on that yet...Watch this space!

What WILL happen in the next year for sure, is that I'm going to have 20 or more articles published. That's a promise to myself.

53 articles.

Time to change those numbers...

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Mr R is watching an Attenborough DVD full of gorgeous animals - killer whales, sea-lions, a crab army, iguanas and beautiful zebras - all shot in slow motion, gently beheaded or knocked dead with a swipe of a powerful paw. I watch surreptitiously. The violence gets too much.

I'm no Steve Irwin, for sure.

A croc thoughtfully chews on a baby iguana. My dinner churns in protest.

I need to move to another room.