Because why should snowmen get all the fun?
I know she looks a bit fierce, but I promise she’s ‘armless.
Gloves probably dry now. Wonder what to make next… (Shush. You can totally have a Snow Day even if you already work from home.)
Thanks to a bumper festive haul, I am festooned with booky goodness. Continuing my Bloomsbury groupie-ing with Frank Baker’s Mrs Hargreaves, which is the lovely silly tale of what happens when poor Norman’s entirely figmentary 83-year-old loony old dear suddenly turns up on his doorstep, under the impression she really exists. Quietly philosophical and very funny (ty, S & N!). Now lolloping through some Ngaio Marsh with great glee.
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ANY WRITING WHEN EXCITING WHITE STUFF HAS FALLEN OUT OF THE SKY? Project Poppy’s plot chasm was leapt pre-Christmas, but am feeling that Januaryish sense of meh. Also, EXCITING WHITE STUFF. May have to bribe self into getting today’s 1000 words done with promises of hot chocolate.
Seeing John Barrowman in panto in the company of a 3-year-old (most. fun ever.); sniffling at the very mention of Bernard Cribbins (yet being utterly gleeful at the prospect of Doctor Eleven and Ms Pond taking over TARDIS duties); wondering why it took me so long to finally see Mirrormask (which is beeyootiful, and very reminiscent of Labyrinth: no Bowie in tights, alas; just Andy Hamilton as a hedgehog).