sheldrake

Got to work today to find the place had nearly burnt down in the night, due to the dodgy wiring. Hmm. It's not at all comforting to know that were there ever a proper fire, there's no way those of us who are confined to the basement would be able to get out. We have bars over all the windows and the sliding doors into the garden, and they're padlocked shut, and none of us can ever remember the combination. Ah well.

I have things I want to write, but my brain is telling me I have to do stuff for the Big Scary Project instead. My heart is no longer in the Big Scary Project, I fear. If I can get through it, I may have to stop doing the Big Scary Projects altogether, which is scary in itself. But really, what's the point in doing something that a) makes no money, and b) you no longer enjoy? Very little, I think.

Television is good though. Dom was wrong - you can apply the Tina Turner Game (as described in this fic what I wrote) to virtually anything. We just sat and watched one of those local programmes about bird-watchers on the Norfolk Broads, which was livened up immensely when we realised that they were all just flirting beardily with one another, and that the bird-watching terms were code-words for "Fancy a shag in the reeds, then?" Oh, I do like to spend my time productively.