Underarm soldering and flowers for Stephenson

It must be Friday – I’ve had a chunk of skin removed. This morning’s festivities started down at the local medical centre, where a nice doctor took the medical equivalent of a soldering iron to a tag of skin I’ve been nurturing for a while. The flesh sparks and sizzles as the thin metal blade passes through it, like a tiny special effect. No smoke and sweet stench of burning human flesh though. Which is always a plus for the ladies.

Then it was back to the house and EDITING! Yes, I got the final notes back from the delectable Sarah (editing guru and the token sane person at HarperCollins) yesterday evening. “How many changes did you have to make, Stuart?” I hear you cry. Well, put it this way, I’ve finished them already. All of them. Done and indeed dusted. Now all I have to do is go hunting for typos – ably assisted by some notes from Mr James – and I’m done. OK, so I know that the typos will get caught by the proof reader, but I’d rather have the book in as good a nick as I can get it before sending it in. Professional pride and all that.

Hahahahah! The end is in sight*.

The only interruption to my day’s labour, other than the visit to Dr Barbecue’s solder shop, has been a fleet of flower deliver companies, knocking on my door and wanting to know if I’m Mrs Stephenson. I kid you not – these people are waiting for me to open the front door, looking at me in my fetching beard-and-dressing-gown writing combo, and asking, “Mrs Stephenson?” Twits. HELLO? BEARD…! Mind you, maybe Mrs Stephenson has a beard too, so I suppose I shouldn’t judge.

Given the number of floral delivery twits looking for her today, I have to assume it’s either a BIG birthday, or she’s dead. And if it’s the latter, she’s even less likely to be a bearded bloke in his dressing gown. In my humble opinion.

Right, now that She Who Must Be Consoled After A Poopy Day At Work is back, I must bid you all adieu and go spend the evening in more culinary pursuits. Maybe some roast pork. I’m sure I’ve still got that skin tag around here somewhere…

*It’s these cheap pyjamas.