They say every journalist has a book in them. In theory you'd think it's true. After all we spend our time (or at least we try) writing succinctly and to deadlines. We're aware of story structure, the use of apostrophes and how the nuances of words change meanings. It's a cinch right? I could probably rattle one out in my lunch hour if I set my mind to it.

Nope. For one thing my lunch hours are busy - surfing the net, reading The Mirror and... erm, eating.

And when I get home, while I can surf the web to my heart's content and read loads (as well as watch the big five - Buffy, Angel, 24, The West Wing and Spooks) I can't quite settle myself down to write, like, a whole chapter or something.

It's time to face the truth: If I do have a book in me, it's hidden somewhere behind my dislike of brussel sprouts and love for sci fi.

One of my new year's resolutions this year was to write a novel. I say one, because I had quite a list - in fact if I'd written it out in full that probably would have been my book pretty much done.

But after the first few weeks of collecting things - inspirational pictures, notebooks, pens, how to guides, background info, it all ground to a bit of a halt.

So I started this blog, working on the basis that if I did a bit of writing for this I might actually settle down and write the book.

Still haven't. But I have a fantastic new library now I have an excuse to buy books about film ("research"), I have more books on characterisation/psychology/how to get published than one woman could ever need (assuming I read them all) and occasionally I settle down and do something and it inspires me. I get a bit excited about these characters I'm thinking about and how things will turn out for them... once I get going.

Maybe I'll have polished the plot outline and characters by the end of the year. And then writing the thing can be next year's resolution!

The hint was in the title.

Sexual Perversity in Chicago.

If you wanted a warning this wasn't for bringing your family to, then that might have been it. Matthew Perry or no Matthew Perry, this wasn't for kids. And the fidgeting of those well-meaning mothers who had brought their teenage daughters to see the show when the discussions of relationships and sex - complete with language that would automatically get your film rated 18 - was actually quite funny.

Yep, the clue was in the title. If you were looking for wholesome family entertainment you really should have chosen The Lion King.

It was a fab play though. Although I should mention that I'm a big David Mamet fan and would have seen the play even if it hadn't had the friendly one in it (although, yes he was surprisingly good... and very lovely!).