Morning!

The next thing I'm going to get from Argos won't be the sofa, but a hoover/vacuum. There is one here, and it's in the inventory, but I'll be danged if I use it again because frankly, it doesn't work. In fact, I would classify it as an antique. It's heavy and clunky, it's bagless and trying to empty it was one of the most icky things I had ever done, and the suction is frankly negligible, because most of the air doesn't go into the non-bag, but out of the back of the brush. So, a trip to Argos seems in order. It won't be an expensive hoover, because with the size of this flat, I don't need much (handheld would be too small though), but I want to be able to vacuum the carpet without getting dusty feet.

In other, more pleasing news, my muse seems to like BiSto. In the past week, I've written almost one short story a day (ok, some of them are skeletons to be fleshed out later, bt still). I'm not saying all are good, but that they have been written at all is great.

Also, I'm having a weird dream per night - probably more, but the last one is the one I remember. This morning, I woke up laughing at the dream that involved Davy Jones of the Monkees, sky-diving into a Spanish village square while in the shape of a fish, and going "Splat!" as he landed.
Come on, Freud, explain that one.

lulz

Would I be the only one to find it funny that today, the local Sainsbury's cannot offer the whole range of roasted chicken because of a fire at the factory?