Bollocks to the Wellingtons

I got back this afternoon from a very lovely trip to Norfolk. I'd never been to that part of the world before. I loved the flat expanse of it all, and the vast skies overhead. Five hour train trips are pretty low on my list of sensible activities, though; I worked out by horrible trial that typing on the train makes me feel utterly nauseous, although I'm ready to concede that that may be my brain's ultimate procrastination strategy. Don't write, it makes you puke. No worries, brain; I'll try to sleep with my head banging off the window instead. Comfy.

Anyway, thank you, Zoe (who probably won't read this) for a fantastic time - great food, trips to the beach, much nattering, and my gazillionth viewing of Withnail & I. Unlike those gents, I went on holiday on purpose. I got some very useful writing done, and I feel properly set up to carry on with my current project. I've got a few days off now, so I'll see how far I can get before people make me do other stuff for cash again. The nerve.

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