Ten happy little fingers and they're mine all mine...

There's nothing quite like coming back from a day of signing and signing and signing and talking and talking and signing, to be met with several thousand people pointing out that though my head thought "Leonard Cohen" my fingers typed "John Cale".

I do not blame my fingers. A number of times in the last two days they have happily written inscriptions for people while my head has struggled to catch up. "Gosh," I think. "It's a copy of Good Omens. What are some of the things I write in Good Omens?" while my fingers have already efficiently written most of Burn This Book. Probably they just got confused by "Hallelujah" or something.

I don't think I've ever been more exhausted at any point in a signing tour than I am right now. (Having said that, I don't remember ever having felt so loved by so many people.) But I get to sleep until I wake up and that's so good...

PS. I think I'm now addicted to calamansi juice.