Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated

It's true, they are. I really am not dead. Well, not as far as I know, anyway. I've not noticed any strange smells or worms or anything like that. I've just become a totally shite blogger. So much so I've even managed to forget Very Important Things like Blog Birthdays. My blogs' birthdays. Can you believe it that I started Atyllah the Hen three years ago and Absolute Vanilla two years ago. Perhaps I'm just worn out. Perhaps the blogging appeal has finally lost its lovely shiny glow. Perhaps it's a permanent meltdown. Maybe it's just a temporary glitch. Time will tell.

Of course, it may just be that I'm very goal directed on the scribbling front - and that I seem to be horribly sidetracked by Facebook - so much so that the bloody thing has taken to sending me warning notices, assuring me that I am indulging in spam or abusive behaviour. I hasten to assure you that I'm not - I'm just too sociable, flitting from one status update to another offering up my two cents worth of observation or opinion. Clearly the greatest social networking site of the decade thinks this is a bad thing. Evidently, I got the whole point of social networking horribly wrong. Apparently you're not meant to be that sociable. So, hang on, remind me again about the point of social networking? No, I don't get it either. So I'm just blowing a large, wet raspberry at Facebook and will go to the bottom of the garden and eat worms. Or not.

I'm wittering here, aren't I...? It comes from having very little to say - and from having been plagued all night by words. 01h30; 02h30; 06h30; 07h30... - all the hours of the night and morning I've been beset by words on the rewrite of my other novel (no not the one I've just rewritten). Clearly words have utterly no concept of time, or my need for sleep. I look like I've gone ten rounds with a panda. My bedside notebook is filled with scrawls - odd phrases, whole chunks of text, and sparkling metaphors. Okay, I'm not sure that they really do sparkle, it was 3am after all.

Still, lest you think I've popped my clogs, or dropped off the planet, I haven't. I'm still here, just, as I've now told you on several occasions, otherwise occupied. I'm sure that won't stop you from having a totally stunning weekend! :-)

Oh, I did somewhere, inbetween the scribbling, make time to find my desk. It was hidden under a mountain paper, as were large tracts of carpet. I therefore, given this is a rare occasion, offer you a glimpse of the writing cave. Please note the giant magic squirrel in the window. Yes of course he's photoshopped in - unless he really did eat ALL the nuts...