Sunday morning: a lament

Sodding cats.

Sodden carpet.

No more sod-it coffee.

The melting-point of octopus

Here's a curious thing. When they freeze seafoods - prawns, say, or as in this case baby octopodes - they freeze 'em with a shell of water around each individual fudz. They say this is to keep them separate, and not at all to add cheap weight to the package, no.

But. I have noticed, often and often, how they defrost from the inside out: the fudz is soft and ready while the icy shell is still intact. Is this actually as weird as it seems to me? Fizzicks is strange, I know, but this is very counter-intuitive.

Also, there may I suppose be a soft and ready novel somewhere inside the frozen shell of this damn book, but damned if I can find it. I have apparently cut a thousand words today, but I wish I'd cut ten thousand. God, but it's bad. How can it be, that a man has written as much as I have and is still crap? Worse yet, getting worse? I didn't use to be this bad, I swear it...