Ros is feeling better, unphased by any thoughts of diapers or decrepitude. She even survived Sam's seventh birthday party, where several small boys swiped at each other with light sabres for two hours, stopping only for hot dogs and birthday cake.

Since then, I've been living on the cake and I'm thinking of developing a diet program for people with a sweet tooth ("The Cake Diet" would be an instant hit, I'm sure).

This week I'm reviewing an art show at the City Gallery at the Dock Street Theater. I would include a link to the City of Charleston's site, but it's pretty unhelpful so I won't plague you with that. Instead, here's what the Office of Cultural Affairs has to say about the exhibition:

The City Gallery presents “"The Handwriting on the Wall," featuring mixed media works by Isle of Palms artist Judith Paul. The exhibition opens on Friday, January 12, and will run through February 5, 2007.

Judith Paul is currently exploring large mixed media paintings on canvas, incorporating blown up images of antique postcards with subtle narrative images. Paul has worked as a narrative artist in a variety of mediums over a period of thirty years.

After studying mosaics in Ravenna, Italy in 1999, she turned her attention to sculptural mosaics. This led to a solo show in New York City in 2001, entitled “True Confessions.” Her work has been exhibited nationally and internationally.

"In today's world, filled with instant text messaging and e-mail, I fear something precious is being lost: the handwritten word,” says Paul. She believes that the familiar handwriting of a friend or loved one awakens emotions within us. “When that person is gone, their thoughts and even their personalities live on through the handwriting that was distinctly their own,” continues Paul.

The City Gallery's mission is to exhibit the work of visual artists from the Charleston area, especially those engaged in serious contemporary and experimental work. The City Gallery at the historic Dock Street Theater is located at 133 Church Street, downtown Charleston. Gallery hours are from 9:00am to 5:00pm Monday through Friday.

Sounds interesting. I hope that the execution is as well-thought-out as the concept (and the press release).

Ah... now that was a good book signing I had yesterday. I met a bunch of friends and new acquaintances at the local Barnes & Noble, told people about my new book (and they sounded interested) and I didn't make a complete damn fool of myself - or even feel like one like I usually do, sat at a small desk by the front door of the store.

I particularly enjoyed blocking visitors' gangway to the Starbucks section. I was able to give them the hard sell before they'd had their caffeine fix and had the energy to resist, or run away from me.

One of the fascinating folks I met (who wasn't just there for coffee) was George Younts, actor and teacher extraordinaire at the local School of the Arts. He's coaching The Fighting Gnomes, an improv group that will be strutting their stuff in this week's Charleston Comedy Festival.

I also bumped into Patrick, who's writing a vampire novel that sounds very cool. Can't wait to read it when he's done (and being a complete coward, I'll read it in daylight).

Ultracool surf dude Patrick Pelletier is throwing his "Block Party" tonight at the John M. Dunnan Gallery, 131 King St., downtown Chas. You can find some of his art at Pelletier Abstractions.

Patrick's a good guy and he deserves a hot reception this evening. I plan to be there with bells on.

Looks like I'll have to move back to Scotland.

I flew here to get away from my home country's incessant preoccupation with C-list celebrities, fueled by a tabloid press that makes US grocery store mags look like models of restraint.

Since I got here, I've enjoyed America's total lack of interest in Ant and Dec, Carol Smillie or Claire Sweeney (I know what you're thinking - who are these people? Who cares?). But now comes the shocking news that David Beckham is on his way over.

Not a day went by in Britain where I didn't see Beckham's face in a newspaper or on TV, with his personal life laid bare (even the kind of toilet he had in his bathroom). Instead of Bennifer, we had Posh & Becks and it was worth leaving the country to escape the couple's continual media onslaught.

So I guess it's time to go, before I'm assailed by daily doses of Beckham coverage over here. Maybe I shouldn't go back to mainland Britain - I hear there's a little island for sale that I could try to snap up.

Oh, and Posh & Becks' toilets? They have his 'n' hers gold ones. Now that's class.

Pregnancy Scared

Last week my wife Ros started feeling nauseous and exhausted. She would throw up in the morning and spend the rest of the day lying on the couch watching Judging Amy & ER reruns.

Ros works part time as a nurse and often brings her work home with her (colds, stomach viruses, flesh-eating bugs) but this ailment was different. It lingered.

Could she be pregnant? We wondered about this a wee bit, but not so much that Ros called a doctor or took a home-kit test. I was reminded of her term as a mom-to-be: her glowing face, the multiple trips to the bathroom, the fetish for gas fumes.

Then I recalled the sleepless nights that accompanied our first baby's arrival, the absence of a social life and the months I spent tending to my infant son, writing snatches of prose while he dozed.

But my memory has always been pitiably selective, so I found myself not minding if Ros was pregnant again. I wondered how we would cope with a second kid (Sam would love to have a brother to play with, but insists that he be his twin. Since Sam's an only child, that could be tricky).

This week Ros has stopped upchucking although she's still ill. I'm still in shock, finding it hard that I didn't run away from home at the mere idea of more pattering feet, and suprised that I'm naive enough to entertain the idea of baby #2.