[Insert witty title here]

Last night, I managed to splash borax all over myself at fiery-burny death and went home looking like the victim of a savage bukkakey-ing. Apart from that, things went well, and after a bit of swearing (and a short stint waving a propane torch around shouting 'why won't you melt, you headless bint?') I am now over halfway through my latest project (and have developed an inherent hatred of wire-work).

Also, I should be stopped from impulse buying. My latest purchase? A trip to Germany with a bunch of goth-types. Oops. That'll be the second one I've booked this year.

Meanwhile, in the real world...
RAF re-train ex-officer as poledancer. "I only wrote it on the form as a joke" protests ex Wing-Commander Jimmy Hendersfield (now known as Angel).