Who Knows Where the Time Goes........

Across the purple skies.......

Bless you Sandy you knew wot wos wot.

I can't put my perpetual startled expression and whiney 'That CAN'T be the time!' so poetically. Suffice to say - I don't seem to have time to scratch my arse at the moment. Told you I wasn't so poetic.

Too many things in my head - well passing thro' the space between my ears anyway. My Dad used to say if a thought found its way into my head it would soon get lonely and leave. I may have said this before. Not only do stray thoughts pass through like misty trains (is that more poetic?), my memory for them, or what I have/haven't said already, what I have/haven't done is completely lost in that mist.

All I do know is that I'm not keeping up with myself. And I'm a bit tired. And a bit ponder-y. And it's that time of year again - I bring it on myself I know. But those Advent Fairies of mine have got less than 2 weeks to produce 96 delightful little secrets every morning. But it's also that time of the year that I get tireder. I don't like the short days - the early darkness seems to make me think that 'productive time' is over - and I get all slumpy and cardigany and just want chocolate on a permanent drip. I think I am a permanent drip.

But now it's bedtime for annoyingly bouncy boys. Time for more Gary Larson cartoons (Little Rock Godling's favourite). The Far Side indeed. Been there. Never quite made it back. But snakes in pinnies and poodle-head hunters are a blessed relief from bloody children's books. Obviously apart from the one I am writing (when do you do that then Mrs? Oh ... when I'm asleep). Off I go. Wish me luck. I'll be back downstairs in about 2 hours with Ken Dodd hair and pins and needles having fallen asleep halfway thro' a sentence with 2 monkeys draped across my head.

Up the wooden hills to Bedfordshire...... down Sheet Lane to unremitting insanity.

Night night my lovelies......


I must find the time to bloody blog again. Orrr.... Did I do that already?