Had dinner last night with Carolyn Cohagan.

She's a writer/director/comedienne based in New York. She's in London at the moment for rehearsals of the show The Tale of Rancor, which she's associate director of.

The show is described as "a highly visual, darkly comic fairytale about scent" and opens on the 19th August at the Cherry Lane Studio Theatre, 38 Commerce Street, New York as part of the New York International Fringe Festival.

After a couple of gin and tonics and a little arm-twisting, Carolyn graciously agreed to be my second Guest Writer.

Carolyn....the floor is yours:

Dear Reader,

I am just sitting here with Stuart Hughes enjoying a lovely warm day in a garden in Ealing and I can’t help being reminded of my childhood in Texas.

I was raised in Austin by a coupla cowboys and a brothel madam and each day I rode my mule the 10 miles to pick up the mail I would wonder if everyone in the world was as lucky as us Texans.

I’m happy to say that now, in this here remarkable year of 2003, the Americans unlucky enough not to be born in Texas are experiencing the next best thing: a Texan president.

He’s tall, he’s rambunctious, he has nice hair. My friend Sue Bess Sue says that he even smells nice, like Stetson cologne. He has focus and drive and his butt looks real good in a pair of Levis. Mmmmm. And have you seen him walk around his ranch? He wears a big cowboy hat (shame about covering that luscious hair) and boots and he almost looks as if he’s done a day of work in his life. Now that’s sexy.

So eat your heart out England. We’ve got him. He’s ours. If only I could convince him to return to Texas forever, but that’s my selfishness talking. I wouldn’t dream of keeping him from his adoring public.

So every time you see him on the TV, or see his studliness smiling up from your newspaper, remember my noble sacrifice and thank God for creating Texans.