The mother of all hangovers

So Blogtacular was yesterday. I got up at 7.15am for a train to London at 7.50am, and a full twelve hours later stumbled back out of the train station carrying more bags than I started with, barely coherent, and clutching a wooden spatula bearing the command “Paint Everything”. I was swiftly scooped up by the waiting husband and posted into the car with a bag of takeaway dinner. This morning I woke up at the crack of sparrow fart with an overwhelming urge to Write All The Things.

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