QUICK.SAND.

I’m not usually a big fan of advertising, but I do like words. I love the expressiveness and humour of this ad from lastminute.com despite its brevity.

I enjoy my retreat into infantilism with Harry Potter...

But I agree with Nicholas Lezard on the Guardian's site. The writing ain't much cop.

"A nine-year-old might feel quite pleased with the writing in the Harry Potter books. It's pretty embarrassing coming from an adult," says Lezard.

The books are really gripping, but why so long? When I got to number 4 (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) I thought this woman needs is a good editor. In the middle it meanders off into boring details about the kids' homework, chop it out I say.

I think JK Rowling has imagined all aspects of Harry's world so acutely she doesn't want to leave anything out. So someone else should do it for her. But I think the first books were so successful that her editors treated her with kid gloves for the latter books.

I applaud Lezard for taking an intelligent adult look at the Harry Potter books. Too many people have opinions about them without taking the time to read them.

For me, writing’s like falling asleep

Writing is like falling asleep. Not so easy, it's like falling asleep, but in that if you can’t watch yourself, you can’t do it.

You get into bed and are looking forward to a nice sleep, and start gradually dozing off. But if you consciously realise you’re doing it – ah, sleep comes at last – bang! you’re awake.

I think writing is the same. If after spending a morning of scratching your head checking your emails and generally proscrastinating you give yourself a sideways glance and realise you're writing away happily, the moment goes and poof! you’re scratching your head and wondering how you can start again.

So don’t look at the first spark of inspiration in case you get too dazzled to carry on.

Good angel cyclists (letter to Time Out)

I’m sure Michael Hodge’s Slice of Life last week (Time Out 1915) was calculated to get hundreds of letters from irate cyclists, but I’m going to ignore that fact and write anyway.

I think his column misses the point. Every day I see the vast majority of my cycling colleagues flouting the rules of the road, often creating dangerous situations because of their carelessness.

But a leaked Transport for London report two weeks ago (reported in The Times) came to the shocking conclusion that cyclists who stop at red lights are more likely to be killed on the road than those who don’t.

Many pedestrians put themselves and others into danger by dashing across the road in front of cars and stepping out when they aren’t looking. But when do you hear the whole class of pedestrians being vilified, except perhaps by Jeremy Clarkson?

Law abiding “good angel” cyclists don’t deserve death on the roads just because fellow cyclists don’t obey traffic signs.

Noisy neighbourhood

I'm working at home this week and have discovered my upstairs neighbour vacuums her floor about three times a day, no exaggeration.

I do mine er... up to once a week. Am I a slob or is she crazy?

(She does have builders in at the moment, but even so is three times a day necesary?!)

The noise is, incidentally, more irritating than the screams of her month-old baby.

I won't even go into "tuneless whistling man" who lives over the fence or the icecream van that plays the Match of the Day theme tune. (Gah!)

On a more positive note, I'm rather proud to have discovered a blackbird using my garden as a foraging patch.

Funky Mary

Her name was Mary Func, so she couldn’t help being known as Funky Mary. But she wasn’t funky in the least sense, which made it worse. And it wasn’t the sort of easy nickname people tossed around like Sharpie, Mikey or Red. It was just another needle to needle her with.

She had short brown hair and moony glasses, because one could never be pretty with a pair of specs. Her skirts stopped below the knee showing a short length of stout calf before the start of her socks which led to her flat shoes.

And anyway, as a surname Dysfunc would have been more appropriate.

Did I wrong Stephen Isserlis?

Listening to Classic FM while working at home today, a Bach cello piece was played. It would normally have been delightful, but now filled me with a sense of shame.

It was played by Stephen Isserlis, who I saw perform at a concert more than 15 years ago. I was learning to play the cello and my music teacher had secured front row tickets for me and my family in the (er) renowned Dorking Halls.

But I was foolish, I was young, I was bored. I took to flicking through the programme during an Isserlis solo. He was scraping away just in front of us and (according to my Mum) glared at this impudent audience member affecting studious scrutiny of his biographical details, rather than sitting listening awe-struck. My Mum snatched away the programme and I waited for the dressing down later.

So now I can’t listen to Stephen Isserlis without a feeling I’ve let myself down, whereas really I was a bored teenager and he was the seasoned professional who must have played to tougher audiences than you find in the Dorking Halls!