I did think for half a moment, I will admit, that the
after-effects of Disgrace wouldn't involve much more than binge holiday-booking
and a mildly emotional farewell to avocado on toast and snuslessness and the occasional
life-wrecker text message gone m.i.a.; however, running out of book every half a week and forgetting, as one does, to
leave the house for just under fifty-eight hours in a row and a surplus of coffee in my
Lavazza tin and of exotic tea in my cupboard did eventually set off this little
alarm bell in my head, as well as this tiny voice going, what’s it going to be then, eh; and as it turns out, what it's
going to be for right now is a fair amount of waiting; for trips to happen, for
books and parcels and books inside parcels, for cat-ction shots to get developed, and for the
inspiration to face-the-outside-world-every-now-and-then-if-strictly-necessary
to come find me; so if you see any adventures around, please do send them my way: I’ve got cookies.
