Bereft of Life and a Halloween Story.

I haven’t made a post today because everything that occured to me to write about was either serious, boring, or both. I don’t feel inclined to be serious or boring - or both. I want to be mischievous, maudlin, silly or smutty, but it seems I can’t do those either. I am bereft of pranks, tears, jokes and naughtiness. Some kid, eh? I might as well be middle aged. (Have you noticed, by the way, that there are only two types of middle aged face? There’s the bland, comfortable, shop dummy face. And then there’s the still alive face; the one that looks interested and interesting; the one that says ‘I’m still investigating.’ Mmm...)

Worrying about Zoe doesn’t help; I’ve been doing that all day. And I’m also wondering why Dominique and Della have been missing from the radar screen for some time now. And Mel’s studies into the usefulness of human waste only narrowly failed to put me off my dinner. Thank God I’d finished it before Tony Robinson appeared on the TV screen, enthusiastically presenting a piece of fossilised Viking poo dredged up from an archaeological dig in York!

So anyway, I spent my evening instead re-formatting and editing the next story. Since there’s a lot of talk about Halloween at the moment, now seemed the right time to post the only one in which the action takes place around midnight on All Hallows Eve. It will be going up in about forty eight hours.

I might be back later. Ta ta.