Unh...

I have started the ghost story, but I fear I may be broken. My mind has crashed. I do not want to do this, here and now. I quite fancy sitting in a comfy chair with the fire on and reading a book, any book, so long as I didn't write it. Or cooking a big pot of chilli, maybe. Or maybe just going to bed, trying for a reboot. Something. Anything rather than this, sitting here picking at this poor story. It doesn't deserve my current level of distracted discontent.

And yet, I only have a week to write it; or less than that, if we consider the practicalities of delivering the Unread Fantasy Novel on time. This is no time to be breaking down, where I should be speeding up.

In other news: a hammer is a damn fine tool to have at hand, when a two-inch-thick block of chocolate needs breaking up. We used of course to have toffee-hammers, but they wouldn't have had the oomph. Honestly, two inches. And for no observable reason: it could have been half as thick with twice the area, and I wouldn't have minded a bit.

Happily, I am not one of those people who put their tools away after use, so I did indeed have a hammer to hand, right here on the desk. I also still have an electric drill. With a bit in its mouth. And a jar of screws. And the manuscript of Desdaemona, which I am no longer working on. And...

*tidies desk*

*a bit*

Ah, the inevitability of meme...

Or, why would I be executed in Nelson's navy?

For feeding people, obviously...

Why would you be executed in Nelson's Navy?

Article 6. Don't feed the Frogs. Or the frogs, for that matter."No person in the fleet shall receive an enemy or rebel with money, victuals, powder, shot, arms, ammunition, or any other supplies whatsoever, directly or indirectly, upon pain of death, or such other punishment as the court martial shall think fit to impose, and as the nature and degree of the crime shall deserve."
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*goes off to cook chilli*