Since I’ve been a neglectful blogger for so long I thought I’d better explain myself. The ugly truth is that I’ve been locked in my room writing a book and it ain’t pretty. If anyone ever told you book writing was glamorous (do they say that?) they are lying. Book writing is painful. It involves many hours of staring at a blank screen and thinking of ways to procrastinate: suddenly cleaning the scale off the bathroom taps seems like something I should really be doing; or maybe it’s time to darn my socks (how do you even do that?); or colour code and alphabetise my wardrobe (anoraks, belts, cardigans…)
Too. Much. Thinking.
Dear God, I’m going to slash my laptop with my scissors if someone doesn’t write this for me.
Maybe it’s time for a drink. This can wait right?
This is where I’ll be for the next month, so I doubt I’ll be blogging much. I will, however, be over on Instagram and Twitter because after all, aren’t they the ultimate form of mindless procrastination?