sheldrake

Oh, I'm just so *good* at wasting time. It's my greatest talent.

Reading back over my journal (another example of simply excellent timewasting) I've noticed that I come across as a provincial alcoholic. Not true, I say! No.

So. I really enjoyed this little lij/dom fic by novanumbernine: Canal Street

And for those Cumming-lovers amongst you, the lovely rochefort was kind enough to point me in the direction of this. Hoorah!

*scuttles away again*

I feel good today. I found a Fray Bentos pie at the back of the cupboard which I didn't know I had. To me, this is a good thing. Others may not agree.

I went out with my good friends the Evil Lesbians yesterday, so-called because they are Truly and Utterly Evil (the lesbian bit is incidental), and whenever I go out with them I end up staggeringly drunk and without the ability to talk or use my legs. I once made the mistake of spending New Year with them and couldn't move for three days.

There was an interview with the very wonderful Alan Cumming in the Observer today. ( This bit made me chuckle rather )

I'm also becoming increasingly convinced that that paper's Barefoot Doctor column must be made up. It must be. ( It's completely barking )

I was very tempted to go and play at being a Lord of the Dark in thelostland, but my brain (which is France and Germany in the UN security council of my life) vetoed the decision, reminding me about the two Big Scary Projects and their Looming Deadlines, for which I have done Absolutely No Work. *kicks brain* Stupid internal organ. You knew those were the things you were supposed to avoid thinking about.

In other news, have finished American Gods, which was wonderful, and bought Neverwhere. Why I've never read this man before I do not know.

And in other other news, you people are all incredibly cool, fantastico, sparkly, delightful and other adjectives as well. So there.

Interesting article in today's Guardian by Philip Pullman (author of the wonderful His Dark Materials trilogy), about writing and responsibility:

Can literature change the world? Or should it be above the concerns of society? Philip Pullman argues that while writers have wider duties, they must be faithful servants of their stories