Lemme tell you about spiders. They spin. They sit in their spun webs and they watch. You remember Arachne? Poor old Arachne. It wasn't her fault that she was better than the goddess (Artemis? My memory is failing, baby, old age and all that). Anyway, Arachne aside, they watch. They don't tell the flies that they're watching because that would spoil their fun. They eat flies. Poor old flies. It's not that I like flies, it's just that I feel sorry for them when they end like that (and I've seen the film, of course). Trapped. Wrapped. And devoured. Slowly, innit? Devoured slowly. I think they paralyse them first though. That must be some kind of relief I suppose. Spiders have eight legs, apart from the one in that story, that one had seven legs. They run fast. They run at you just to freak you out.

Oh, incidentally, this site is messing up. It won't let me leave messages or PM anyone. Actually, it could be my computer rather than the site. Don't know. But I can't make contact.

I ate too much creamy pasta tonight and now I feel sick again. There was no wine to wash it down, that was the problem.

I'm reading a fairly horrid book. It's made me do a bit of research about the Salazar regime. I know someone who was there in 1974. She lived through the carnations. I don't think I want to go to Angola just yet.

The report was submitted on time and I've done my prep for next week. The old dear is mad at me because I won't be there to take her to the hospital on Monday, which is, coincidentally, her birthday. I shall be there this weekend though. Don't know how I'm going to cope with el doggo. I shall be away until Christmas week. Damn. Haven't even bought cards, let alone think about prezzies. Not quite true. I bought a prezzie for Tayeb, but it's not a Christmas prezzie. It's a solstice prezzie. So he gets it before Christmas.

Tomorrow I have to tidy up. The carpets smell like new carpets. It smells like a carpet shop.

Moff.