Attack of the killer twenty-foot Muse

Well it looks like Madame Trace and Mr Winter aren’t the only ones suffering from an attack of the Muse right now. Last night, on my way to beddy-byes I was pounced upon in the hallway and the second instalment of Skeleton Bob forcibly rammed twixt mine ear-holes. Can’t decide if it’s going to be a special Christmas instalment, or if I’ll do it before then, but Skeleton Bob And The Four Sheep Of The Apocalypse it shall be*.

Then upon waking I went through to the kitchen, primarily to get breakfast for Little Miss and put the oven on for sausages, and found myself pondering that song about the twelve days of Christmas. And there she was – the Muse, lurking in the fridge behind the cherry tomatoes. I put up a valiant struggle, but in the end was pinned to the floor behind the laundry basket and force-fed an idea about producing twelve depressing, nasty little vignettes set in Oldcastle (nothing big and fancy). One for each of the twelve things mentioned in the song. These are to be posted in the run up to Christmas, one a day.

OK, so I know the twelve days of Christmas run in the other direction, i.e. after, not before, but I don’t care.

* With apologies to Mr James. See, this is really why I talked you out of the sinister sheep thing, so I could use it myself! Bwahahahahaaa...