Plop, plop, fizz, fizz...

Which sounds like some unfortunate bowel disorder*, but has nothing to do with the consumption of far too much Theakston’s Old Peculiar.

As I posted (or rather got Fiona to post) a whole heap of stuff writted in advance, I suppose I should do some sort of actual coverage of the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival, if only to set out the truth in these matters lest some of you fall across the ramblings of the drink addled and mistake their vague ramblings for fact. And so, dear browser, to the truth:

*OK, I have no idea what would constitute ‘fortunate’ bowel disorder, but what do you want from me?