The deadliest, jelliest site ever. Brought to you by Niamh Shaw

Sorry about the lack of posts; I have had the usual issues with my muse. She appears to have eloped with Andrew’s imaginary friend, and the two of them are shacked up somewhere in the desert with a bottle of Tequila.

To date, I have successfully put off writing for a quantity of months that almost qualifies as ‘several’. However, it’s the end of the weekend and I’ve completed my weekly ration of Killer Sudoku puzzles, finished reading my book and annoyed Husband to mild/severe irritation. The only thing left is either sitting on the sofa sniffing my hair, or getting stuck into a post.

By the way, my hair smells great. I’m still digging the novelty of being able to smell it; up until now, I’ve had to resort to smelling Andrew’s and he’s not that generous about it. Anyway, his hair emits a vague whiff of fried motherboards. I’m looking forward to being able to chew my hair; it’s not quite long enough, but I should be able to devote a large part of December to that employment. (Andrew’s hair is too short for more than snacking on.)


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