Mantel, Attention-Seekers, and Wishing I Were Scottish...

From @isthatscully
on Twitter.

Once again, and for all the wrong reasons, the world's eyes are watching. Mirth-filled and incredulous they're wide-open, unable to process the chaotic madness as it unfolds. 

Normally, that would be the set up to a joke. I'd lure you into thinking I was referring to the current UK political mess, but then land a punchline about something completely different. But nope. You were right first time. It really is that ridiculous. There are, however, some small blessings to be found under the rubble of our collective sanity.  It's not all bad. The Daily Star's lettuce-cam did much heavy lifting last week, reminding global rubber-neckers we can still laugh at ourselves in times of crisis. Mostly.

Today we might have a new Prime Minister. Or if not, Friday. I've rewritten that several times over the past three days, depending on the latest information. I think we're to be told the situation around 2pm. Aren't they good to us? Thanks guys. But look. If/when the whole circus repeats itself in a month or so, can I make a request? Could the media only report actual events, rather than briefed gossip from a Caribbean sun lounger? Unless someone has handed in their papers and started their leadership campaign, can we ignore their mates' dribblings until they put their money where their mouth is? I'd have preferred the UK response to the idea that Johnson might make a comeback, as a slight shrug and a whevs face. You know, like that Partridge gif. When someone craves attention that much, it does them no favours to give it to them. Even now, at this later stage of his life, we can help the ex-PM become a better person. Giving back power that he's unsuitable for and incapable of, is cruel. Give him the chance to be a useful member of society... by letting him nowhere near a position of responsibility again. It's definitely in the national interest.

I'm pretty sure this is NOT Wolf Hall.

Writing News

If you don't read, you can't write, so my writing news is my current reading choice. When Hilary Mantel died, I rectified the fact I'd never read any of her stuff by buying Wolf Hall. I knew it'd be brilliant because non-brilliant books generally aren't critically acclaimed nor award winning, but I also thought I'd find it dull and heavy. Happily, I don't! It's great! I'm immersed! World-building is usually applied to fantasy, but the forensic way she builds the world of the Tudor court is completely enticing. I feel like I'm Thames-side, smelling the whelks, every time I pick it up. (FYI, I don't think being 'Thames-side and smelling the whelks' has been explicitly described by Mantel in any of the chunk of Wolf Hall that I've read. I don't even know if there were whelks by the Thames in Tudor times. But it's testament to her creativity that I feel comfortable in riffing on her setting. She might describe a specific conversation or experience of a character, but the way she writes means the reader gets a 360° view of the surrounding scene. Pretty impressive tbh.)

Peter Capaldi in Local Hero. I
spent much of the last week
doing similarly.

Culture

While Westminster imploded (again) I was in Scotland. It was utterly glorious to be away from the nonsense (although a large part of my final day was spent watching rolling news.) Because I love Scotland and because I culturally appropriate places I love, I ate a lot of cullen skink, seafood chowder, and salmon. I watched Sunshine on Leith, I bought a tartan scarf, and on the journey home through the stunning scenery, I listened to the soundtrack of Local Hero. Twice. It was glorious.

Food and Drink

See above for the seafood details. On the way up, I also bought 'bits' from Tebay Services. That meant my Airbnb was knee-deep in posh scotch eggs, veggie pies, artisanal bread, and all the cheeses.

The view from my Airbnb. Sigh. 

Out and About

I stayed in North Berwick. I knew nothing of North Berwick until a few months ago, when I spent a happy evening searching for beachside holiday rentals in cold places. I do love me a blustery beach. I got exactly what I was looking for, along with a town that has particular lovely restaurants and pubs. Plus, it was six stops on the train from Edinburgh Waverley. I had a wander around the shops, plus a very large gin in Brewhemia, my new favourite bar in Edinburgh.

The rest of this week is a busy one for me. Because the book-writing is at a natural pause, I've got all sorts booked in. But hopefully it won't be too long before I'm back into a sensible routine. Just like the UK government. 

Have a lovely week, folks

Any Excuse for a Lansbury Gif...

Queen

A month ago, the country was mourning the death of the Queen, whilst I felt largely indifferent. But now? I totally get it. Angela Lansbury, queen of my heart, died last week. All the phrases that were bandied about during the royal period of mourning suddenly make sense. She was like everyone's nan... She's been there my entire life... I never thought she'd actually die... all felt real for the first time. For me, anyway. 

Queen

Whether it was Murder She Wrote throughout your youth, kids' classics like Bedknobs and Broomsticks, or the darker stuff like Gaslight or The Manchurian Candidate, she was ace. In 2014, I saw her in the West End in Blithe Spirit. She was eighty-nine and bossed that stage with more energy than my then thirty-something self could ever muster. Once again, like the Queen queen, she was the link to a previous generation with her seventy-nine long year career. Whether it was her work in Hollywood, Broadway, or television, she was legendary. What a broad!

Apart from being a non-smoking
caucasian female without a rabbit suit,
this is pretty much me right now.

Writing News

It's so lovely right now. I'm having a couple of weeks of - I believe the technical term is - swanning about, and completely ignoring the 65,000 word manuscript I've just finished. When I come back from - I believe another technical term is - titting around, I'll be able to read it through after forgetting what I've written. That way I can critique it, willy nilly, and make it sound marvellous. 

You're right, Janet.
The Good Place really slaps.

Culture

Last week, I rewatched The Good Place. Four series of mega belly-laughs while covering deep and meaningfuls about the universe. As TV shows go, it's a unique slant. I first watched it when was released in 2016 and it's still brilliant. Recently I was talking with a friend about how rubbish current Netflix releases seem to be. I'm getting lots of cheesy, naff stuff suggested regularly - all of which I'm watching, natch - but none of the excellence there used to be. He reminded me that this may well be the result of the COVID gap. We're now seeing the result of everything shutting down for a bit, two years ago. The other explanation is that my algorithms are so screwed by my insistence on watching shite Christmas films all year long, I'm not being offered the good stuff. Both theories may be correct.

Just a light
Monday night tea.

Food and Drink

After my mini break in Wales, I've had a week on the healthy eating wagon. I say 'heathy eating wagon', but since I ditched the Weight Watchers mentality and got into the revolutionary and mind-blowing 'eat when you're hungry' routine, the healthy eating wagon isn't so much a wagon. It's more a gentle voice reminding you there's no need for daytime drinking in a normal week, or that you don't need three courses on a run-of-the-mill Monday. So that's where I'm at. Getting back to normal. This week,' normal' has been porridge with apple and cinnamon for breakfast, and loads of salmon and veg. 

Out and About

It was the niece's 3rd birthday so that meant a night in Warwick for pizza and booze. If only we could all be as thrilled with our Big Girl Beds as she is. 

Queen

Enjoy your weeks. May they be the perfect balance of Autumnal sunshine and stiff breeze, along with the hint of an aroma of burning leaves. Can you taste the bonfire toffee yet? Well, CAN YOU?

Have a lovely week, folks 

Kalush is coming to Liverpool!...

The Kalush Orchestra won 
Eurovision 2022

Commiserations to Glasgow! You had a cracking bid that I was convinced was the clincher. Turns out, myself, the bookies, and the months-long fan chat, was wrong. The European Broadcasting Union and the BBC have chosen Liverpool as the host of Eurovision 2023. Woohoo for all concerned.

Scousers who only watch on the Saturday night in May, have got a lovely surprise coming. Liverpool will live and breathe Eurovision, weeks up to the night. The fortnight run up will have all sorts going on, and the fact I'm only six stops away on the train, is possibly the best thing that's ever happened to me. I cannot wait to fully immerse myself AND sleep in my own bed. (Along with a variety of siblings that have bagsied a mattress for the night.)

But there's one thing that can never be forgotten, nor will it be here. This is Ukraine's win. Sam Ryder, beautiful puppy-man that he is, came second. The 2023 contest should be in Kyiv, or Odesa, or any other Ukranian city. The fact it can't be, is grim. Liverpool, which is a fantastic city and well up for hosting, is merely caretaking. The general consensus is that Liverpool's bid was successful because of how much emphasis they placed on Ukraine and its culture. I cannot wait to see that unfold next spring. Bring on Eurovision 2023! The final is on13th May next year. I'll either be in the arena, or loitering around a big screen in town. Either way, what an experience!

Thanks, Leo. I'm
pretty proud of myself.

Writing News

Pop the champagne corks, sound the klaxons, light beacons on the hills, and dance 'til dawn. Why? BECAUSE I FINISHED MY ROUGH DRAFT!!!! Yep, that means the new story I began in February has become whole. It's got a beginning, middle, and end. It goes from A to Z. It's done. 

Well, obviously it's not done. Far from it. With my current levels of jubilation, you'd be forgiven for assuming I'll have copies available in a few weeks. WRONG. This is merely the first milestone crossed off. It's a million miles away from complete, but that's an update for another day. For now, I'm feeling warm and smug with achievement. But as the Hot Priest said to Fleabag when she said I love you, 'It'll pass.'

Culture

Friday night saw the Lionesses play USA at Wembley. A hot ticket, for sure. I watched England's 2-1 win from a Welsh Airbnb, rather than the stadium, but it was a cracker either way. That's the sport, now the sequins. Strictly's back! I'm still considered a  recent convert (five years ago) but as soon that music starts, I'm fully onboard, ready to offer up my Autumnal Saturday nights as a sacrifice to my glittery god. So far I'm obsessed with Jade, Ellie S and Ellie T. You heard it here first. Finally, I read Richard Osman's new book in a day. It was easy, engaging, and fun. Does it bug me when famous-for-other-things people shoot straight to the top of the book charts? Yes. Did that stop me reading his book? No. I loved it.

No filter. Just a real ale pub looking
out over the sea. Good times.

Food and Drink

My mini-break to Wales meant lovely food and drink. I had a night in the Glengower pub drinking real ale, watching the waves crash, and the sun set. I ate a hallomui and honey kebab in Medina, a place whose epic side salads kid you you're being healthy. Then I bought a bunch of cheese and wine at Ultracomida, to accompany the ENGUSA match. All in all, it was foody-heaven. This week, I'll be mostly rolling instead of walking.

The Aberystwyth prom.
Bright sun, cold wind, big coats.

Out and About

Aberystwyth, of course. It's my favourite place, and - I feel contractually obliged to point out - the setting for Assembling the Wingpeople; a book I recently wrote that I've probably never mentioned before. Available in all good online bookshops. I pottered around the town, but only to walk to pubs and restaurants. It was a chilled/lazy/couch potatoey few days.

Here's hoping your week includes full-of-tummy rolling, sequins for days, foody-heaven, or whatever floats your specific boat. It takes all sorts.

Have a lovely week, folks 

If I Had a Dog, I'd Call it Los Barcos...

This is the sort of
GIF I'd use.

It's time for the monthly Ramble and aren't I glad about that. Because if I had to write  an update after the week just gone, my opening paragraph would be 'WTF???' Repeated forever in bold, next to a GIF of a dropped jaw. (For readers from the future, the UK just got a new PM, she tanked the economy, and we're all fucked.)

So let's delve into some escapism. But first, a quick preamble. 

Perimenopausal insomnia is the worst. Yep, I'm not mincing my words. I imagine all versions of insomnia are bad; mine happened to kick in at forty-three along with a load of other unwelcome symptoms. For the first time in my life, I've been awake for two to three hours, most nights. And it's boring. I'm not stressed, there's nothing playing on my mind, I just have to ride out the time from 3ish-6ish and wait to drop off. But it was during the small hours that I rediscovered my latest obsession. 

It's Eldorado. Boom. Straight in. Remember it? The BBC soap that began in 1992 and was axed after a year. I LOVED it. Course I did. I was fourteen and it was on TV. What else was I going to do at 7pm, three night a week?  It got slated by the critics and some of the casting was questionable, but I watched it religiously. Fast forward thirty years and I recently found it on YouTube, in the middle of a sleepless night. I gave the opening episode a go. That bought back memories, so I watched the second one. Then the third. And... well you get the drift. I'm re-hooked and obsessed.

Gwen and Drew Lockhead.
Do better, Drew.

(Patricia Brake and 
Campbell Morrison.)

It's a lot of fun. It's also sexist as hell. Every male character seems to regularly comment on the body of female characters. Middle-aged father of two and husband to Gwen, Drew Lockhead says, 'I wouldn't mind giving her one', in episode one, as he watches Ingrid in the town square. Stay classy, Drew. Then there's seventeen year old Fizz married to early-fifties Bunny. Or Dieter, the twenty year old that's sleeping with forty-something Trish. All a bit dodge. Then there's the bandying about of gay slurs, the casual racism and xenophobia, and the - quite frankly - unbelievable moment when busy-body, Olive King, says the N-word. She's lamenting the change of title of that Agatha Christie book, but the idea that it would have been broadcast at 7pm, blows my tiny mind. 

Polly Perkins plays
Trish Valentine

But those are the negatives. Definite negatives, let's be clear. But there are positives. There's a camp breeziness to the thing. No storyline lasts more than a couple of episodes, so there's no high stakes or stress. Trish Valentine (with the twenty-year old lover) totters about in heeled mules, white leggings and a blingy top. She sings show tunes at Joy's Bar and is a riot. Sweet, gay, Freddie is grieving the death of his long-term partner, and being a kind sage to everyone that needs him. He's out and proud but sensitive and damaged. It might feel like a gay trope today, but the fact he's there at all feels revolutionary, when you think of when it was made. And then there's the international cast. Danish, French, German, and Spanish characters rub alongside the British ex-pats in the community of Los Barcos. It was certainly a massive vision. The BBC paid for the construction of the poolside apartment block and the Old Town houses in the middle of the Spanish countryside. You can't accuse them of lacking ambition. 

Time capsule stuff right here.
Dieter, Fizz, and Pilar.

But the most fascinating thing about rewatching it now (all 156 episodes) is how much of a time capsule it's become. It's a treasure trove of early nineties representation; with attitudes, references, and politics, wrapped up in the guise of a soap opera. There are several comments about the Barcelona Olympics. Freddie makes a joke with Dan Quayle as the punchline. There are frequent references to the European project, with the Brits now considering themselves 'proper Europeans'. There are times, when this proud Remain voter felt quite teary at what's been lost.

It's not just the mechanics of Brexit that break my heart while watching it. It's that when I saw this first time round, I had my whole life ahead of me. Europe was right next door. People went interailling and backpacked. I was learning German, which school said was important because the future was European. I was excited to get out there and see it all. 

So what happened? I suppose I did see quite a lot. I travelled cheaply and with ease, in my twenties and thirties. But the fact that my country - the one whose national broadcaster made an internationalist soap opera about ex-pats living in Spain - has now closed itself off to its nearest neighbours, will forever make me mad. 

As a forty-four year old sleepless woman, I no longer need to be seduced by the imagined glamour of ex-pat living. But I wish I had the choice to be. So if all I can do to feel part of the world I was promised at fourteen, is watch Eldorado throughout the night, that's what I'll do. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Stretching for Good News...

Happy memories

Since last week it's been a mad scramble to catch up with the news. Some of it's been fanfared via iPhone news alerts. Other headlines have been less blatant. Did you see Mrs McClusky died? The best fictional headteacher from all our Grange Hill memories. Kenneth Starr also died. Perhaps a more divisive figure than the actress, Gwyneth Powell, who played everyone's favourite headteacher. Hilary Mantel of excellent writing fame has also left us too early. And then there's the sad news about Cherry Valentine from Drag Race UK. So young, so rubbish.

 
But there are some hints of good news. Sort of. It seems the tide may be turning positively towards Ukraine, albeit with threats of nuclear war being bandied about along the way. The Attorney General of New York, Letitia James, launched a lawsuit against Donald Trump and his kids for fraud. As I listened to her outline the case, it felt like a few wrongs were being righted. And then the world's eyes have been on the brave women of Iran. In the aftermath of the death of Mahsa Amini, allegedly at the hands of the Morality Police, they've taken to the streets, bareheaded and furious. I can't begin to imagine the strength it takes to defy such authoritarianism. I'm in awe.

But it's a bit of a stretch to say an ongoing war, an alleged criminal still at large, and protests after the death of a woman in police custody, are good news. They're awful news, let's not mince words. But people's resilience and tenacity, the power of collective effort, and solidarity from all over the world have got to be the positives to take in such grim situations. Surely?

Writing News
Not bad, not bad. Ongoing and almost there. The end of the rough draft is nigh. Then I must forget every word. So I can read it like it's new and delete the crap. 

Culture

The FA Women's Super League season kicked off a couple of weeks ago. I'd not been to a match since COVID, but was determined to return to being a Liverpool season ticket holder. And what a kick off it was. For their opener, newly-promoted Liverpool were playing league-winners, Chelsea. I sucked up the inevitable defeat and turned up anyway. So did 3005 other people - a record attendance for Liverpool Women at Prenton Park. Being back in the cold, clapping brilliant athletes amongst a home crowd, was ace. Better still - and defying all expectation - Liverpool won 2-1.  Wa-hoooo! (Let's gloss over their second match yesterday. A bigger attendance for the Derby at Anfield but not a great scoreline. Onwards!)

Do I LOOK like my
two year old niece?

Food and Drink

I had a mad craving in the week. Remember Heinz Space Invaders? Or Heinz Haunted House? The pasta shapes in tomato sauce that were stacked by the spaghetti hoops and beans? It'd been about thirty-four years since I'd last eaten them, but I was overwhelmed. I HAD to have them. Fast-forward to me on Wednesday, in the Sainsburys' beans aisle, scratching my head and wondering where they've gone. Turns out, if you want a sauce-covered pasta shape from a tin these days, you've got to get onboard with Peppa Pig. I felt ridiculous, but the end result was a joy. (Served over scrambled eggs on toast.)

Liverpool by night.

Out and About

Nights out in town used to happen every weekend. Now they're every few months. So with those factors in place, it was really bad timing to meet friends slap bang in the middle of the Labour Party conference. I mean, it's broadly my politics of choice, and I don't begrudge anyone having a drink come Saturday night, but blimey, Liverpool was busy. Stuffed to the gills with earnest types wearing lanyards. It takes all sorts.

Let's hope there's some actual good news this week. Proper stuff that brings happiness to the world. And if not that, let's hope that Heinz broaden their pasta shape range, ASAP. 

 

Have a lovely week, folks

A Weird AF Week...

Me and the news.

I made the decision early doors, to switch off the TV and ignore the Internet. It was for the best. After hearing the actual news - the Queen has died - information outlets quickly filled with speculation and nonsense. Then they repeated it, ad nauseam. I realised I needed to stop shouting at the telly and do other things.

But that makes for a strange week. As a self-confessed news junkie, I've felt unmoored. Desperate to hear from reputable outlets about the war in Ukraine, I searched high and low for a still-functioning source. (I finally remembered Arthur Snell's Doomsday Watch podcast and devoured that.) After weeks of debating with friends about how Liz Truss was going to tackle the energy crisis, I've yet to read anything in depth and reliable despite the immediate plans she once had, to share her ideas. When I did venture onto Twitter, my timeline was filled with retweeted hatred from royal commentators/grifters who pounced on Meghan Markle's every move whilst ignoring the fact they're bitter, twisted racists. Or alternatively, and less rage-inducingly, there was loads of 'Queue Chat'. Like the Duchess of Sussex, The Queue™ was also the subject of intense and constant scrutiny, but without the bare-naked bigotry. Indeed 'Queue Chat', - and just so we're clear, this was the running commentary about the line of people, queuing to walk past the Queen's coffin - could be split into two distinct camps.

1. This is a spectacularly British thing to behold. Isn't our innate eccentricity over such matters of etiquette and decorum, sweetly endearing?

2. WTAF?

I probably don't need to tell you I fell into the second camp. But as someone who ultimately believes that people should do want they want, as long as they don't hurt others, who was I to judge? Queue to your heart's content if that's what makes you happy. I just didn't need to read the thoughts of random people who were watching other people do it. 

So now the official mourning is over. The government, we can only presume, has to do some governing, and I can switch on the news and read social media without feeling like I'm losing my mind. That's plan, anyway. Let's see how it goes.

Fill my veins with
high school movies.

Writing News

In a bid to refuel low reserves of inspiration, I've been recently hammering high school films. Booksmart, Love Simon, Moxie, and then Son of Rambow (less high school, more Will Poulter being brilliant.) I try not to read the genre of book that I'm writing whilst actually writing it - too many worries about inadvertently copying the voice of others - but I have no qualms about immersing myself in the same world via film. It's been a treat.

Any excuse for a 
Hot Priest gif.

Culture
Straight off the back of Rushdie's Midnight's Children, I've gone with Kiley Dunbar's Christmas at the Borrow a Bookshop. Wildly different but both engaging and magical. Cosy Christmas novel season is here. I also rewatched Fleabag in its entirety, so I've had to deal with all the feels, once again.

Food and Drink
What do you do when everything's closed, the TV has room for just the one story, and you've exhausted all your boxsets in the ten day lead-up? You spend the day baking, of course. Yesterday saw me make my first ever batch of cinnamon rolls, and my first Christmas cake. Not the first Christmas cake I've made in my life, but the first one for 2022. The actual Christmas cake for actual Christmas, will come later. 

Out and About

Not much happened in the old Out and About category. My Wednesday brunch was lovely and my Thursday Costa was fun. I can't argue with that.

So now it's a short week, I've rejigged my settings to make this go out on Tuesday, and I've still got the headache of switching it back to Mondays almost immediately. I shall have to leave you and get on. It's all go here. 

Have a lovely week, folks. 

On We Go...

It's hard not to feel sorry for Liz Truss - a sentence I never thought I'd write if I lived to be a thousand years old. Two days into the top job, the job that only a tiny fraction of the country actively want her to have, and she's front and centre outside Number Ten, solemnly orating about the Queen's death. My mind wandered to the scene inside. Bags still packed, the chaos of a house move all around. 'Where's my good black dress?' Was it in the blue case? For the love of God, will someone shift these boxes?!'

It's been a strange few days for anyone who isn't Liz Truss, too. A quick scan of social media shows there's been a range of responses to the Royal death. Heartbroken grief, surprise sadness, mild indifference, and then anger at the blanket fawning. The UK is a broad church. Royal correspondents have been particularly criticised (cough *Witchell* ) although it's a real skill to pad madly and say nothing much, whilst being on air as often as possible. 

So in the spirit of keeping calm and carrying on, the Weekly Update continues. I'd say it's what she would've wanted, but let's not be silly. None of us have a clue if that's true. Not a clue! We can only do what we think is best. So unlike the football this weekend, I'm keeping calm and carrying on.  Duty calls, and on we go. 

Good advice that I 
won't be following.

Writing News

The first draft of my new novel continues apace. But to practical matters. Like everything else right now, paper, ink, and printing prices have gone up. That means making less money on each book sold. When my previous books were published, it was just over a quid. Now it's 70p. In order to earn a £1 for each future book sale, I'd need to raise the price. I don't want to do that. When people can't pay their bills, I'm going to struggle to flog a non-essential novel, even if it is marvellous. (Spoiler alert: SO marvellous.) Instead, I can use less paper and ink. That means I'm keeping my eye on the length and aiming for fewer than 60,000 words. For an adult novel, this would be too short, but for a middle grade book, it's fine. I've got twelve chapters, so have tried to stick to 5000 words per chapter. It's tricky. I was well over target a few months ago, now I'm back on track with an average of 5286 words per chapter. There's still stuff to cut, but the editing process will do that. So, yeah, that's the Writing News this week. It's not always poetic language and creative juices. Oh no. 

Culture

I had a cinema double bill on Saturday. See How They Run was first, which I thought was 'marvellous fun', and a decent alternative to the sombre TV coverage. Then, ten minutes after the credits rolled, I wandered into another screen and watched Jaws. For the first time! Yeah, I know. Not sure how I'd avoided it all these years, but I had, and now I've not. It was... wait for it... better than I thought it'd be. I mean, you probably had to watch it before CGI and you probably had to forget that Boris Johnson's COVID response was modelled on the mayor from the film. But yeah. It was sharky fun.

 

My version - stilton, spinach,
truffle oil, and honey.

Food and Drink

After eating the nicest pizza in the Wine Club last week, I had a bash at making my own. Stilton, truffle oil, spinach, and honey. It was nowhere near as good as theirs, but it did the job. Meanwhile, I'm sorry to say, the 2022 padron season is over.

The Shakespeare North
Playhouse

Out and About

First there was a mid-week tea at theWine Club. (See pizza news above.) Then I was lucky enough to be invited to the Shakespeare North Playhouse, for the As You Write It performances. (One Show fans may have heard of this. In conjunction with the Playhouse, the BBC ran a nationwide competition for young people to write a play to be performed on stage.) A marvellous time was had by all!

Next Monday, it seems, there's to be a televised funeral. I probably won't post a blog at the same time. I'm sure it'll be best the day later. (It's what she would have wanted. Or is it? Literally no one outside her actual circle has a clue. Stop saying it about random shit!) No, I'll post later in the week. Or maybe treat myself to a week off. Who knows? But whatever happens...

...have a lovely week, folks.