Theoretically, we are still looking to buy a house. Practically, of course, with various illnesses we haven't done any actual looking, and we're not sure we can afford anything anyway. Reading this story on the BBC website makes me wonder if there's a very good reason why houses are hard to afford in England. From an undercover investigation:

My boss congratulates me on getting an offer on a flat that has been overvalued by £60,000. The newly-wed young couple viewing the property are stretched to their financial limit. But my manager is happy.

He takes me aside and explains how to convince a surveyor that the flat in London's fashionable Notting Hill is worth more than it is. He calls it "slightly simmering" - I call it cooking the books.

Add to that forged signatures, fake passports and bribes. These people should be in jail, not running companies.

Full story
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Steph and Nika are both on drugs.

By which I mean they are both getting antibiotics, Steph for her ear-throat infection, Nika for really dry, flaking skin.

Why can't I have some?
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A couple of great books I've read this year:

First up, Naomi Novik's Temeraire. Take the Napoleonic wars, add dragons. It's essentially a love story between a man and his dragon, with battles thrown in. Awesome.

Also, Mike Carey's The Devil You Know, which is published in April. It takes the standard hard-boiled detective style, but makes the detective an exorcist in a world where the dead are returning. The plot has every twist and turn you'd expect in this type of detective story, along with the cynical, laconic style. But Carey's protag is very good, and the story hurtles along.

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Steven Erikson's new novel, The Bonehunters, part of his Malazan Book of the Fallen series, is out now. I saw it in Borders at the weekend, and I'm going to get it as soon as I can afford it. I'm a big fan of Erikson's series. He's a very original writer, and his books are immense. But I'm also extremely jealous. Erikson manages to get a book out every year, it seems. The latest is 912 pages.

Okay, so how the hell does anyone write that much--and that well--every single year? I seem to have been writing The Sleepers for decades. Centuries, even. It's on its millionth draft. And it's only 60,000 words. I want to be prolific, too. I just don't want to have work for it...