Post 467. BRIGHT, WINDY DAYS.

 WITH ONLY CATS AND FIDDLE-FADDLE

TO DISTRACT ME.
If I was a disciplined professional I might have written the opening chapters of a whodunit in the time it has taken me to start this post. The spirit has been willing: the muse, weak.

I have fussed around; feeding cats, making cups of coffee and tea, emptying the letter box, skipping through past blog posts, and handling routine chores. I have also fallen asleep with the cat Angel on my lap at around half past four every afternoon (even the annual buggering about with the clocks has not changed that). I have simply lacked the drive to shove a few words onto a computer screen. Sadly, my inhibition has not been helped by my current book of choice, Philip Pullman's Daemon Voices on stories and story telling. Sir Philip is unlikely ever to see this.

But what if somebody draws his attention to it because his name has been mentioned? Will he be disinclined to excuse grammatical malfeasance by a writer who has a collection of his books? 

I fear so. And the end of the month is upon us.  
So it is deadline time again for Den Barnden: Watching. 

Who says so? I do: and I'm the editor.

My grammar may not be pristine, but I'm a tough editor.
Chance academic criticism.

Publish and be damned!

Good day one and all.