A post bourne out of the fact that I'm sitting in a motel about 40 miles South of Glasgow and I've just shelled out for an hour of internet time because my phone buzzed me that I had 7 e-mails.
One of those must be important, right?
Nope. Every single one was a round robin Christmas greeting from a producer or editor. So I have 57 minutes to kill.
Bah, humbug. Maybe I should invest in one of those Dangleberry's?
I though I was dead smart not flying up to Scotland but driving, as Heathrow is socked in and every domestic flight has been cancelled. Then I discoverd my first 200 miles of driving were in a pea soup fog surrounded by Mr McGoo's relatives on their way to a family gathering.
I managed 400 miles before the old bones began to creak and I sought comfort in several large Vodkas. So here I be. I believe it is called Abingdon. I really didn't fancy the dreaded Death Race 3000 known as the A9 to Inverness tonight, so a good night's kip is in order.
The A9 for those who don't know is a notorious killer of Boy Racers and tourists because it keeps switiching from dual carriageway to two lane and people ....well......forget.
This is my first Christmas without my son, who is spending it with his mother. Probably why I'm so crabby.
So to put things back in perspective I would like to wish a sincere Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to everyone on the scribosphere. Your wit, good sense, boundless enthusiasm and selfless help have given me many hours of enjoyment over the last year.
Long may it continue.
Peace to all.
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