You lazy fucker

Cheezus Ker-riste on a bike (with or without chives, your choice), what a lazy fucker I have been. Or not, as the case actually is.

In the eons since my last post life has been a blur of activity, a whirling dervish of Transatlanticism, an orgasm or five of explosive developments. All you need to know is that in the past three months I have been between Texas and Manchester a couple of times - spending six weeks TX-side and six weeks Manc-side, notwithstanding the traveling around UK during Ker-ristemas/the holiday season visiting piss-soaked relatives and avoiding pissed up Brits subsumed in and by the annual ritual humiliation of the office party, all confused sexual tension, thrown together master-servant cleavages and bad turkey dinners; tandoori, roasted, provencal, greco-roman, cumberland and WWE...or somesuch never nonesuch.

The book is fully edited, the Masters degree is complete, agents you are on notice. Get your shit together, in between post-festive guilt and redemption. The Ker-ristian world was on downtime-shutdown-uptime for six weeks and now you have disintered yourself and have work to do.

Get it done.

Half Lived.

You know you want to.

I am well: Rose is better. Same-same.

Till tomorrow and next time.

Tru'.