Two weekends running I have destroyed two wonderful prose piece pieces with my ham fist, my small brain. Mosquitoes are shrinking my brain, every night, every evening I fear a shrunken brain by breakfast-time.
However, I am not dead yet, and thought to trawl the storyboard, the narrative back-catalogue, stick several thousand of my best works back to the web. Until tomorrow morning there is no charge, some stories are actually very good in the reading if you were me, I think so. Possibly for my telephone – nobody calls – it would be good for me, to give a like or a choo for me, please? Cheerio.
…so, join me as I read the back catalogue, publish the best shit, probably bed by midnight, up for 6.30, my farm duties.