Prevarication, thy name is Anyanka

Why is it when I'm at work I can't wait to get home so I can write and then when I get home I can't do it? I've made my dinner, I've tried to put pills down my cat's throat, I've read my mail, I've read some fics, I've watched Las Vegas Law (I think that's what it's called) and I've finally opened the thing I want to write. I've stared at the word 'John' for a while and now I'm writing this. I'm rubbish.

On the cat-pill story, there are bits on the floor and my thumb tastes funny but the cat remains resolutely pill free :-(

The British; they're eccentric

I'm just a little bit scared and kind of proud of this.

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of seeing morris dancing, it's an English folk dance that most of us say we're embarrassed by but probably secretly think is quaint and comforting to know is happening out there somewhere. It reminds us of summer fairs and warm beer and villages. Not this though. This madness.