This Was The Tricky Bit.

In Books, Day Breaks, And Night Falls. In Life, Night Rises From The Ground. The Day Hangs On For As Long As It Can, Bright And Eager, Absolutely And Positively The Last Guest To Leave The Party, While The Ground Darkens, Oozing Night Around Your Ankles, Swallowing For Ever That Dropped Contact Lens, Making You Miss That Low Catch In The Gully On The Last Ball Of The Last Over.

It Gets On Top Of Me And I Get Frustrated.

As A Real Person, He Wouldn't Last A Minute, Would He? But Drama Is About Imperfection. And We've Moved Away From The Aspirational Hero. We Got Tired Of It, It Was Dull. If I Was House's Friend, I Would Hate It. How He So Resolutely Refuses To Be Happy Or Take The Kind-hearted Road. But We Don't Always Like Morally Good People, Do We?

I Didn't Realize House Would Be The Central Character, More The Bitter Comic Relief Appearing Occasionally. I Relish His Wounded Nature - The Lameness, The Scarred Byronic Hero.

I'm Finding It Increasingly Difficult To Simply Walk Down The Street. In New York, I Dashed In To Buy A Big Pair Of Sunglasses To Conceal Myself, But The Guy Behind The Counter Shouted 'hey! It's Dr. House.'