Despite its public humiliations this week (and next and the one after), Facebook finds itself ranking highly here by doing what it does best and allowing my best friend of 30 odd years ago to get back in touch with me.
I haven't seen her since we were six (hi Em), so there's some hefty catching up to do. I'll spare you the idle chatter and simply deliver the news that she is now all grown up and an illustrator of some worth.
Can we work together without imploding? Of course we can. Anybody who I've shared lunch with resisdes in the inner sanctum by default. All will be revealed when there's something to reveal - but it will more than likely heavily feature goats.
Peculiarly/ironically, she's chosen to have a baby with a rather big Kiss fan. I'm sure that's not the actual reason she delivered Tiger-Lily to the world, but hey - there are a million worse reasons in my book. I'll stop now before I get into trouble...
This week, I've been sidelined from my posting by a) much contact with agents, b) self-imposed deadlines over a couple of stories that needed birthing c) writing enough content (to last at least three months) for the previously mentioned Rock n Roll Hell column somewhere that I'm not allowed to talk about yet and d) John Connolly's The Whisperers. So tonight I'm downing tools and firing up the barbie for a slug fest with the kids. This will feature cloudy lemonade and meat. Lots of meat.
Last night on the way back from the pool, (swimming, not liver or black) we hit the country lanes and saw - and I became very excited about this - a monstrous bird of prey attempting to make off with half a pheasant. Pheasant and grouse are running wild at the moment. They hide at the side of the road, wait for you to drive up and then run out in front of you. It's not good for the nerves.
Anyway, my gut reaction was that it was so big it was an eagle. Eleanor thought the same, so I wasn't talking complete garbage, but I don't think we have eagles down here. On consulting the bird encyclopedia, I guess it could have been a buzzard. About a foot and a half high, huge wing span of about three feet - brown feathers, (not spotted). Big old sod. Rowan - where are you when I need you!
What I do know is that it wasn't a jabberwocky.
In a little aside from the usual blabbing here, my Ma came back from Italy yesterday after taking a return trip to Pompeii and Vesuvius - a trip that we originally took as a family about 30 years ago.
That would make it something like 1980 I guess and Vesuvius was a steaming monster. We drove most of the way up, dumped the car in the dirt and walked to the rim where you could peer into its heart at your own peril. It was very exciting. She now tells me there are barriers everywhere stopping you from getting anywhere near the action. This is very sad. What I was always liked about Europe - particularly Spain and Italy, was that if there was a hole and you fell in it, it was basically your own stupid fault for not being careful. Barriers at the rim of Vesuvius so that overweight tourists don't fall in? This is a step in wrong direction.
But possibly not as wrong as her finding they have opened a Burger King inside Pompeii. This must surely be logged in the annals of history as Violation Number 1. I mean, really... what are they thinking?
Wrapping up the week: Mr Downes told me to get some new pictures taken as I was looking far too haggard for my own good. I have taken this in the spirit it was intended and will administer that this very weekend.
Bastard.
Currently listening to: Billy Idol's back catalogue.
Currently reading: What do you think.
Currently watching: My weight.
Wisdom of the day: A field full of donkeys often evokes the same emotional response as seeing otters playing.
