My star sign is n't the Goat. It can't be. Simply not possible. The evidence is n't there. Does n't stack up. I'm a Cappy by name only, astrologically, I'm something else, I'm the hamster on the wheel. That's my sign. Frantic pedalling and yet never getting anywhere.

Effort, effort, effort, but the work, the paper across the desk, the salvos of e-mails never go away. Nail one and another fills it's place. I worry that I can't put my finger on one particular achievement; where I am putting my finger, all ten of them is in holes popping in the dyke holding back even more work.