"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

Greetings to all Americans (and un-naturalised Americans) on this momentous day in your history - and therefore the history of the world.

I am not a political animal, but that lady from Alaska seems quite nice, and since her house is so close to Russia, perhaps it could be used as an embassy, and therefore save money.

It is 9.50pm here in Britain (which of course is the proper time), so I imagine you will all be sitting down to your evening meal: do you call it dinner? Or supper? (I am sure you do not call it ‘tea’)

Anyway, I guess it is all over now (the election), bar the shouting. And judging from what I have seen on the news, there will be plenty of shouting, whoever wins.

I have spent some time with my financial adviser today - A nice chap called Ron - about the possibility of raising (sorely needed) cash. Please don’t misunderstand me – I am not touting for food parcels or anything like that. But to go on living the lifestyle to which I am accustomed, I need money.

Nothing coming in from my writing, and Tony Blair seems to have cornered the market in lecture tours.

I have tried to discuss this state of fiscal disarray with Gwen, but she does not seem interested – as long as I go on paying the rent.

I have had a touch of the diarrhoea this evening. I don’t know whether this is caused by the uncertain financial situation or whether it is something I have eaten. There is a close connection between body and mind. (Have you read Deepak Chopra?).

Anyway, I have a large Grouse at my elbow. Not the bird – the whisky. I am hoping this will kill or cure.

I am not going to stay up all night to get the election results. I will force myself to wait until morning.

I have been thinking of getting a job, to ease the money situation – the problem is, I am over-qualified for almost everything. So what can I do?

Any suggestions (clean of course) would be welcome.

I have to go now, because one of the chores I have to do (in return for the little extras Gwen provides) is to wash the dog. ‘Miles’ is a cross between a Greyhound and a Rotweiler (have I spelt that right?) and so he is bloody hard to catch – and when you do catch him you wish you hadn’t.

Actually, I am a bit worried about Gwen’s relationship with that dog… Is it normal for a dog that size to sleep in your bed? And also, he farts.