An interesting weekend. Living in middle-class Toryville we witnessed santa arriving by helicopter at the local park, before we put the girls on a donkey to go an meet him. I'll explain in a later post. It's far too complicated today.

 

My much better half is currently flat out with some kind of vomity-disease thing and has been in bed for the last 14 hours. I suspect a norovirus. It's that time of year. I'm feeling slightly wobbly myself. I aim to kill or cure by having a MASSIVE breakfast. If I throw it up at least I had a crack at things and won't have to worry about the calories or sat-fats. If I hold it down then I should be OK for the rest of the day.

 

That's the kind of win-win scenario that only has losers. I like it.

 

I didn't get anything written at the weekend. Although my youngest was awake for a large chunk of Sunday morning so, from 3:53am through to 5:07am I had plenty of time to sketch out some further plot ideas while sitting on the stairs outside her bedroom. Depending on how far down the toilet my face is by 8:00pm tonight I'm planning on getting a lot written this evening. The fact that I'm well off the pace is bugging me. A few good sessions at the keyboard should see thing back on track.

 

*sigh*

 

Housework then on with business.

 

Ubi Est Vomitoreum as they may have said in Rome.

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