I can do without all this. Ok, I think The Badgers of Beechen Cliff is worth reading. If I hadn't written it myself, I might even buy a copy. It has a treebender and rattlebang wagontraps aplenty. But I don't have a body-double or a stunt-writer who can be getting on with the other stuff while I get to the bottom of this furry, alien, underdog thing. Mysteries and riddles are fine for the train. I've got stuff to write.
At least, the ursine squatter upstairs seems to have gone. Probably out hunting for Owen Paterson - one of our members of parliament.
I have a trigger-happy writing finger lusting after a few black marks and punctuation squiggles that can turn a dry eye into a tear, a creaseless face into a titter. So let me get on with it.
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