Left so entirely to my own devices, I find myself spinning quite nauseatingly in neutral. Writing X-men fan fiction; is there a less noble pursuit? I don't think anyone need dwell on the insanity that emerges when you combine writing that sort of nonsense with reading Vanity Fair, evoking strains of Jane Austen. Can you picture Scott "Cyclops" Summers as Mr Bingley? Wolverine as Darcy? Or varients thereof, but I'm sure you get the idea.

No two days of this job have been the same. Thus far. No doubt everything will become teeth-grindingly dull all too soon. Yesterday I was rushed off my feet. Today I have had a florist's delivery and a minor crisis in the form of a need to send Chinese-language emails. The one is simplicity itself, the other is a buck that has been passed.