Monk Quixote

In which the author compares himself to a cartographer, a small hairy mammal, and talks about towels.

Ever dreamt that you were offered your dream house, to live in rent free, but you had to give in to the dark side – literally. An officer in the Imperial Army in exchange for self-closing drawers?

I’m doing that thing.  You know.  The stringing words together.  A secret squirrel project.  But do not be confused, dear reader – it does not involve squirrels.  Although there is a bear, vintage guitars, shoe-whitening, bag ladies, japanese S&M (as opposed to common old garden S&M) and some nano-whatsits.
Oh yes.  I am, in the very [...]

I tried to be disciplined last night.  After my run home, eating, activity displacement websites A through E and only some minor faffage I sat down with Scrivener to show it who’s the daddy.  I even stopped listening to the football broadcast and listened to opera instead (anxious italian shouting seems to suit my writing [...]