bee feast

Something just ate my blog post. Never again will I cut and paste so blithely - oh wait, yes I will. I never fucking learn. I still can't be sure that I won't run a bath that is lukewarm due to over-zealous leaving-on of cold tap.

For fucksakes, put a picture of the dog up, looking stern and remonstrative, before you have a spasm.



Better. He pities the fool, clearly.

I think this is the blog gods' way of telling me to EDIT. I admit to having had some fun - fun! - late last night and this morning subbing news for a ports - ports! - magazine. Ports as in shipping, not as in delicious beverages. But the discipline of it, sorting sentences into types regardless of their actual content, ruthlessly dispatching extraneous detail and press-release belly-button-fluff, ending up with something that reads like I've been dangling my little legs off docks since I was wee - well, it's satisfying.

I was catching up with an old colleague on IM inbetween making juicy copy of an American lawsuit trying to stop Vincente 'The Chin' Gigante (no, really) from fucking up port authorities' shit. She too left the indie boys to their post-rock bickering some time ago and is now happily embroiled in sex writing - proper

And it's just done it again. Blogger is buggered. Now I go kill things.