If there is one thing worse than being up to one's ass in alligators, it is surely being up to one's collarbone in crocodiles. Dis, of course, is what happens when you wade way out into de Nile!
In further news, my ex-flatmate has now finished clearing out her former den, and for the first time since the Miocene Epoch I have a living room again. Gracious soirées will be resuming any time soon.
Finally, I've got a couple of hundred words done this week on Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland, the rightmost panel of my long-stalled triptych Three Katherines of Allingdale. That is not a lot length-wise, but it's been enough to see Kate and Luke haul themselves out of many months in the Slough of Despond, and set boldly forth again to die in the light. This enterprise will be neither so straightforward nor so doomy as they now assume. I wonder how many of my own assumptions about their tale will be borne out.
Nature's Bounty - (This poem is brought to you courtesy of one too many forage enthusiasts being Wrong on the Internet about the merits of nomming on random bits of black ni...
1 year ago