This ‘ere spooky yarn-spinning for Hallowe’en seems a bit trickier this year. Last year’s effort spun itself out quite easily, indeed I managed to bash it out in about an hour or twelve I think. This time I keep getting distracted by Evil Lesbian Fez-Wearing Space Monkeys. No, really. They’re making a right racket up in the rafters of the Royal Writing Chamber. I’ll have to get the cleaner to bring in her step-ladders tomorrow.

Oh, and the Queen and I managed to bag a couple of Normous Pumpkinny Wumpkinnies today for the princely sum of two of your English Pounds. AND the nice lady at the farm even washed them for us! Hoorah! It does seem a shame to attack them with my trusty Leatherman but needs must as the Evil Lesbian Fez-Wearing Space Monkeys drive so I’m sure we’ll manage to squeeze them in somewhere during a lull in decorating the East Wing.

‹glares menacingly at Evil Lesbian Fez-Wearing Space Monkeys›

…when you open your eyes and remember how much in love with your soul-mate you really are?
I mean really in love, like it’s never been experienced properly before in spite of years of so-called practice.

…when the Black Dog releases it foul-breathed, slavering, powerful grip on one’s soul?
I’ve not felt like me at all, at all, for a few days (I’ll not bore you with details but suffice to say I’ve plucked up enough courage and swallowed enough pride to ask for help) but HOORAH! I’m back!

…when you have a camera packed full of nice piccies that you’re just dying to share with your chummingtons?

Alright then, here you go…

Whilst out caching at the weekend with chummingtons, yea and verily, trampling through the woods so we were, I turned around. Nature truly gives forth a bounty to the eye in all seasons.

When an idiot gets hold of a camera, sometimes, just somtimes, something interesting happens. Well, I liked it anyway.

Just a tree. Lovely tree, so it is. And sky. This near the end of October in deepest Bedfordshire? Marvellous, I calls it.

Whilst sat at a pub table with some fine Grockle chummingtons (i.e. Pharisee a.k.a. John and Motley Crew a.k.a. Keith, unfortunately missing the fourth Grockle, Merman a.k.a. Chris and of course the fifth Grockle, Maddy)…

I spied, well, tripped over, a HYOOOOOOOOOOGE pile of ’shrooms

Not having a handy Henry T. Thirst to, well, hand, we had no idea if these chappies were edible so left them in situ.

But they do look exceedingly yummy, don’t they just?

Et finalement, my dear heart a-snoozing whilst on holiday. No, not the stupid moggy.

‹Bouncy trouncy flouncy pouncy fun fun fun fun fuuuuuun! The wonderful thing about Mally’s iiiiiiiis, I’m the only one!*›

*Whadyamean, thank fuck?

The postman doesn’t normally ring at all, let alone twice. Today, he applied his digit firmly to my buzzer, emptied his sack outside my door and off-loaded a huge package into my eagerly-waiting hands. It was a lovely pressie from The Book Fairy! Ta everso everso much, MMM!

I shall be enjoying a nice hot bath after I’ve wolfed down something hot and satisfying; I think I’ll take Mr Corbett’s Ghost with me.

‹Did that sound too gay? It did, didn’t it? Didn’t it? Oh dear.›