I have been grumbling this week about editors not replying to my suggestions; since then I've had three replies. All saying the same thing. No.
I am so depressed. I wish you could hear me sigh. I am tempted to open the box of birthday choccies Mr Sainsbury kindly gave me but that would only make me fatter and even more depressed. Sigh.
I'm cleaning today. And it is grey and wet and miserable. And so am I.
3 comments:
Band on the run, baand on the run ...
Things could be a lot worse. I could be ... married to Piers Morgan, for heaven's sake. For no particular reason other than he is an objectionable man.
And I've got drumming tonight. And Harvey is being quiet. I think his adventure yesterday wore him out.
I could write you a nice foreword and then you're bound to get published!
You're so kind, Tim.
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