I'm this close to finishing my novel. Well, maybe this close...oh, that's right, you can't see my hands, can you? Anyway, I'm pretty damn close. I'm even in with a shout at getting it done by the Easter hols. It depends whether or not my husband turns up on Friday night or not. He's not sure if he'll make it back from whatever far-flung location he happens to be wafting about in this week (I know, I probably should be suspecting him of some kind of an affair, but the truth is that I simply haven't the energy for that level of paranoia right now). So, if he doesn't appear for exciting sausage and mash and a cider in front of this week's Lovefilm, I may try to do a late night writing storm on Friday and just get through it, because, psychologically, it would be good to get it done before the end of term. Also, I've just applied for a (temporary, freelance) job as a creative writer for an arts project starting mid-April, and if I get it, it would be good to have one thing finished before starting the next (fingers crossed -  they'd be crazy not to employ me, but, as you know, the world is full of crazy people).
Right, washing to hang and frizzy witch-like hair to tame (did I mention my altercation with Edward Scissorhand's crazed sister the other week? I'm not sure what part of 'Just a trim please' she didn't understand, but I now have really short hair. Sad face indeed). Better go xxx