The night before Christmas.

I have a story to finish and while it is currently enhanced by that bottle of Aberlour I picked up on the way home (it’s Christmas so I decided to treat myself), it will eventually get to the point where all the letters on the keyboard look the same and my fingers engage in a drunken dance instead of typing.

There are two long presents that make a sloshing sound. People know me a bit too well – or they are trying to kill me. One of them had better be Penderyn or I will set out on a vendetta to destroy all life on Earth. Except yeast. When all other life is dead, I’ll need yeast to ferment it.

The unravelling will wait until after Christmas. I have to take a day off spreading woe and misery now and then. It’s tempting but I will resist. This might not last for the whole day tomorrow.

Back to writing for me. I’ll probably have to edit in the morning since it’s bound to be full of errors by the time it’s done. I leave you with the Daily Mail’s version of Christmas, courtesy of The Poke.

Have a good one, and have a drink for me!