Writer’s block? I went to my writer’s group last week and the plan was they would give us a start and an ending to a story. A sort of crusty piece of bread where we were to put in the jam. That’s where I experienced the ‘jam’. Nothing. The first phrase was : “They both knew it was the last time they would see each other…”. The rest of the group scribbled away and tapped away on their little oeuvres whilst my oevre was completely barren. I sat there like a lemon not knowing how to even complete the sentence, and that’s what it felt like: I’d been sentenced and there was no time off for good behaviour. Today’s guards sort of sum up the evening.
Speaking of no jam in the bread, I’ve added a new profile picture of myself. Taken a good many years ago this is me at a party. I know how to have a good time but here at Susan’s birthday I was not a happy chappie. My dear Aunty and Uncle has supplied catering of the highest standard but they had forgotten the most important addition to a birthday: jam butties. I was not just upset, I was actually very cross, what were they thinking?
Any resemblance to the man on the left in the cartoon is entirely coincidental.