And so I face the final curtain

The final reading in the Monkey’s Typewriter tour is tomorrow. We, the unwashed, are being unleashed on Kensington this time. It’ll surely end in tears – theirs not ours.

Its been good fun, this little amble around west London, but I have to say reading the same damn story out nine times is mighty tedious. I now hate the story. And more annoyingly, I can’t tell if it is any good. It started off, in Harrow, being quite funny. And then, as I don’t do funny, I made it more serious. Then I got round to correcting all the mistakes. Then, my buddy B read it and corrected even more of my mistakes. I know, yet more mistakes; who’d have thunked it? Then I changed it some more. I've declared it finished now. FINISHED.

I think I might bury it in the garden under a gravestone made of ice lolly sticks like it’s a beloved guinea pig.

Although if anyone actually turns up this week I promise to read it out in my most animated and engaging voice – the one I use when talking to large groups of children under five. Funnily enough this would be our ideal audience.