Saturday, 11 July 2009

Where Was I?

I heard on Radio 4 that Enid Blyton used to write for 8 hours a day - every day! Holy fucking fuck. That's a sobering thought.

The other night a DJ didn't save my life (from a broken heart) but I did have a flash of inspiration. I remember thinking: "I really must grab a pen, because the moment will pass, and I won't be able to retain the wonderful idea I have buzzing around my brain right now!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" the better half of my brain scoffed, "Just watch a few more minutes of Big Brother and hold the thought in your head. It's such a good one that it will never fade away."

Well, you can guess what happened next.

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