It's just graft graft graft at the moment, leaving those few moments when I'm not actually in work free for the all important business of wolfing a quick meal down my neck (for which I thoroughly recommend frying a tin of chickpeas with an onion, cutting some chorizo into it and stirring some mustard through, takes five minutes, and time is definitely a factor as currently stands).
All writing is on hold while the season is in full swing, any which does appear is likely to be of a deeply misanthropic nature, and therefore not a great deal of cop. Everything is on hold. There is only the voracious public, and the implacable God of Catering.
I am incredibly fucking tired.
All writing is on hold while the season is in full swing, any which does appear is likely to be of a deeply misanthropic nature, and therefore not a great deal of cop. Everything is on hold. There is only the voracious public, and the implacable God of Catering.
I am incredibly fucking tired.
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