"Like winter with insects" - that's how my big sister, Katharine, described the summer so far - very apt. She does create a vivid simile, the old big sis does. She once said taking her Jack Russell, Alfie, out was like walking a wasp on a string. I sniggered every time I thought of that for ages afterwards.
On a different note entirely - I, personally, have decided to turn over a new leaf: I will no longer become incandescent with rage whenever something gets under my skin, instead, I will become iridescent with rage - won't that be nice?
My writer friend Chris Ward was telling me this evening (at least that's when I read the message) that he knows a writer who does 10K words A DAY. Today, I think I got to 47 (ish) and them scribbled them out. Yes, I do mean scribbled, early stages requires longhand, a notebook in every room and quite a lot of rushing towards the nearest one going "don't speak to me, don't speak to me, don't speak to me" write, write, write - re-read two minutes later - scribble it all out, rip out page and throw it in the bin, take it out of the bin, straighten it out for another read, in case I was too hasty, bite it, throw it back in the waste receptacle and stomp off, having gone quite iridescent with rage.
For Mick and Bea - a tune with a link! And not just a tune but a video, too. Panic! At the Disco's Steampunk extravaganza: "The Ballad of Mona Lisa".