If you’re reading this then you probably came here for writing-related nonsense or reading-related babble.

Well, usually I would oblige but if I could grab your attention for one second to mention something else that’d be great.

If there’s one cause in the world that’s close to my heart, literally, it’s heart disease. And I’m not going to bore you here, you came here for literary delights not my life story but this March I’m joining over 12,000 (currently) people and ditching chocolate for the whole of March.

I’m not religious so I don’t care about Easter and I’m not a mother so I won’t be getting a present, but I do eat a lot of chocolate and I really shouldn’t. I’ve made up my mind to make some changes in my life and this is one of them so I thought, why not raise some cash while I’m at it.

This is all for the British Heart Foundation so please have a look, think about donating or even taking part.

On behalf of heart patients everywhere, I thank you for it!




I’d like to apologise for being inactive for a long while but as usual I got lost in my writing and then, before I knew it, it was Christmas.

Just after Christmas a friend of mine came to stay from the Netherlands and then I went with her to her home there and stayed for just over a fortnight. Or just over two weeks to people outside of Britain apparently, I don’t even know if the English know what that means but there you go, you learn new things all of the time.

Either way, when I came back it took me a while to settle back in. I’ve been submerging myself in episodes and books and ignoring my writing, which has been crying out to me to no avail.

However, I am back and I have a lot of ideas to put into action, which of course will stress me out so much that I’ll just sleep for two months. Hopefully I can get some posts up in between the stress-sleeping.

As a side note, I’ve been toying with the idea of posting mini-reviews of books I’ve recently read (and maybe films/TV) and wondered what you guys thought about that? Nothing serious, just short babbles.

Let me know, thank you!


National Novel Writing Month.

AKA NaNoWriMo.

Every November writers from all over the world sign up to try and write 50,000 words a month.

I always say I’m going to sign up but never do. This year is no exception but I have a valid reason. I have been working on the same fanfiction story for, according to my personal instagram, around 39 weeks and I want it gone. It’s coming up to Christmas and I want to put away this fic to work on my Christmas themed fic that I started last and had to abandon because the season passed.

However, this year I decided to follow the general rules of the programme.

50,000 words over thirty days = 1667 words per day which is less than I do now.

Then you might think, if I write more than that now why do I need to follow this at all.

The answer is this – when I write I write a lot at once, so I might write 10,000 words in one day but then I won’t touch it again for a few, and then other things get in the way on days when I otherwise would be writing such as cleaning or appointments or depression.

So far, I’ve written a year’s worth of material in (almost) a year. A month per (almost a) month. But, in the story, I am in November 2015 and I need to get to June/July 2016 and I do not want to be still working on this story in June of 2016.

And that’s why I’ve taken up NaNoWriMo, or at least their rules. So far, I’ve gone over each day so hopefully I’ll finish this before the end of November, or at least be close. That way I can finish my Christmas story and hopefully start work on one of my books in the new year. That’s if I don’t get distracted by a certain BBC drama series when they launch series four.

Which I will.

For those of you interested, here is the link to NaNoWriMo and good luck!

Happy Back to the Future Day!

Great scott 3

In Back to the Future Part II Marty and the Doc landed on the 21st of October 2015 and saw so many things about the future that seemed so far fetched. The director of all three of the BttF films, Robert Zemeckis, said that he hates films about the future because they felt like someone was always keeping score. And he was right, it’s been just a few hours since the future became the past and still websites are buzzing with what did and didn’t happen.

We got wearable technology, video conferencing, wireless payments, virtual reality and drones are the ones that have most been discussed.

You’ll also find a video at this link, which will open in a new tab, showing Michael J. Fox himself trying on shoes from Nike that lace themselves that are coming soon. And if you want to read more about it, including tweets and help for the foundation in Michael’s name, you can here, which will also open in a new tab.

But the purpose of this post was because, as stuff like this does, it gets you thinking.

That’s what the future was imagined like to people back in 1989, what they thought would change in 26 years. And in a paradoxical way you could argue that we saw therefore we made but I digress.

I wasn’t born until 1991 but I don’t think I ever thought that far ahead, I think I was too busy trying to figure out that time to be worried about what my life would be like in 2015.

What did you think, about 2015, about the future, about where you would be?

Did you think we’d be on Mars by now or did you think you’d have won the lottery?

Or was it more subtle that that? Did you think we’d have taken out colds by now, or even that you’d have learned that second language you always wanted to.

What did you think of the future as a whole and your future?


*degrading chicken noises*

Around August the 21st I opened twitter and saw this on my feed:

Scottih Book Trust Tweet

So, I clicked it to find out what it was. It took me to a page on which detailed, weirdly enough, that Twenty7 Books were holding a 27 day submissions periods. This meant that writers who had no agents could potentially get published through this, which is pretty unheard of now, the websites of most publishers will state that they do not accept unsolicited submissions.

I had never heard of Twenty7 so I did some digging and link-hopping. They seemed to be a solely online company and that sent alarm bells ringing for me. I was brought up in the switching age, where everything was still written by hand but then we were slowly being turned to computers. The age where we’d spent our primary years being told to make our hand writing as neat as possible and then in high school told it doesn’t matter because we’d be typing it up anyway. And that’s fine, it’s not like I’m exactly anti-tech, before we had the internet I used to spend hours playing with PowerPoint on the computer and making random presentations. Currently I have my laptop on, my iPod touch and my phone. The tablet is around here somewhere.

But I still prefer paper. Although I read a lot of online stories I will always buy my books in paperback. Except that one audiobook version of Kevin Bridges’ autobiography I have, but I have the hardback too… It’s a long story, don’t ask.

Anyway, so the thought of a company solely online worried me, I like a face to talk to, someone solid to run to when everything goes tits up, as it often does with me. But, I like to be able to sit down and say, “I don’t understand that” and have it explained to me, face to face, in real time. And, I don’t understand things a lot.

But then I thought, okay, I won’t win anything, there is too many great authors out there, you’re nowhere near ready to go anywhere near them… BUT… what about the others who have the chance to receive guidance, to have someone nudge them. What about that?

Cue the many nights biting my fingernails and trying not to freak out followed by the “I’m in the middle of writing, I can’t go back to one of my older ones right now, I’ll wait until I’m finished” excuses. I mean, the story I’m referring to is a fanfiction that I’ve been working on for months, haven’t even got to the end of the first draft yet and I’ve passed a quarter of a million words. The story ends around June/July 2016 and I was on August 2015. You wouldn’t think that would mean many more pages to go but it will. I certainly wasn’t going to finish it before the submissions ended on the 27th of September. Hell, I’m not even finished it now, I’m only in October.

I was kidding myself, making excuses and, in the end, I thought, if I thought my writing was up to scratch, I would be nervous but certain. And I wasn’t. I’m still not. Every day I question what the hell I’m even thinking but then I pick up my pen and keep on writing.

So, I chickened out this time. Maybe they’ll be a next time. Maybe there won’t be. Either way I’m still writing. Nothing’s going to change that.

September 11th

It’s been fourteen years since that day.

It was one of those moments in life where everyone knows where they were when they heard about it and not just in America.

I live in Scotland, in the UK and I remember I was ten years old and was walking home from school with my mum. We knew something had happened but we didn’t know what so we got home and turned the TV on. I almost wish we hadn’t, I wish we’d been ignorant to the whole thing and went about our lives unaware of this horror. Of course, that’s not only unrealistic but selfish too but everything changed that day.

As a ten year old I wasn’t really aware of what was going on out there in the big wide world. We learnt about world wars in history and that’s where that kind of fighting and genocide stayed. I was nearing the age of going to high school and it seemed that the whole world had simultaneously started pulling back the curtain to reveal the true world. Before it, nothing was perfect, but it wasn’t evil. At least I wasn’t aware that it was.

And suddenly everything seeped into reality – death, suffering, extremism, fear, mistrust, weapons…

As I got older everything just got worse. Death became murder, suicide, execution, illness, accidents. Even those got scarier – murder suicide, suicide bombings, beheading, childhood illness, the spread of disease, sometimes on purpose, elegance.

It never seemed to stop – explosions, gun fights, rape, paedophilia, robbery, kidnap, suicide, mass shootings, war zones, terrorists, murder suicides, suicide bombings, child abuse, oppression, gender inequality, LGBT+ persecution, homelessness, austerity, animal cruelty.

The list goes on and on and I find it harder to get out of bed the more I think about it.

This morning my sister shared a video on facebook, from another page, of a man dancing around his kitchen, picking up his child and singing, the child laughing and dancing too. The caption said that the man was a fire-fighter who died trying to save people from the burning World Trade Centers. The video was their last Christmas together. He was so happy.

I will never understand why you would want to hurt anyone. Me and my family talk about this a lot, in general, usually when we see a sad story on the news, such as an infant murdered or an elderly person physically abused in their carehome. We all don’t see how you could do that to an innocent person, we even agree that we couldn’t hurt a guilty person.

How could you purposely terrify hundreds of people on planes and then fly them into buildings, causing the buildings to start to fall apart, go on fire, killing so many people? How can you actually do that? I will never understand it. Never. I can’t even say any more on that, I have no words for it. People try to explain it by saying “their extremists”. I know that, but they’re also people and they’re supposed to have empathy and morals.

I remember seeing the worst picture of the whole thing. It was a scene from the tragedy, I think, and someone had written on it. “Everything I need to know about Islam I learnt on 9/11”. I was disgusted. Islam did not do it, extremists did, terrorists did.

On this day please keep every victim and every family member in your mind. Everyone who was on the plane, phoning their families knowing they were about to die; every person who woke up that morning and went to work in the World Trade Center; every firefighter; every EMT; every other person that I’m not even aware played a crucial part in the rescue effort.

But I also urge you to remember that saying Islam did this is like saying the Western World deserves to die. Fear can do many horrible things, like start wars. Please don’t let fear and anger make you into something you’re not.

Terrorists planned and carried out the terrorist attacks on the 9th of September 2011, killing (according to google, I have no official figures) 3,000 people. Islam and its believers did not. Terrorists continue to kill people and destroy lives. Islam and its believers do not.

RIP to all of the victims, it shouldn’t have happened and we will never forget you.

Edinburgh in August

As you might know, I live in Edinburgh in Scotland. And as you may also know, every August Edinburgh invites the world to invade it for a little while. And I mean everyone.

The most known is the Edinburgh Fringe Festival which pretty much takes over the whole city. On the back of the Edinburgh International Film Festival, running from the 15th to the 26th of June, from the 7th to the 31st of August people from every genre and performance medium you can think of take over churches, night clubs, pubs, university grounds (which are empty for the break anyway, we don’t just chuck students out of classes, don’t worry), parks, theatres & just about anywhere else that you can put down a box office, bar area, stage, billboard, table of flyers, stacks of guides or anything art or alcohol related and are quite welcome to do so. Sort of.

As someone who lives in Edinburgh I hate the festival period.

Let me explain.

The opportunities the festival presents for the arts is invaluable, it’s creative, it’s fun, it gives a sense of buzz and community. As if, for that short time, you get a little glimpse at the world’s art on your own doorstep.

But, when you live in Paris you stop seeing the Eiffel Tower, don’t you? Edinburgh Castle sits there almost invisible now. I see it but I don’t at the same time. Walk out of my front door and look left and you’ll see, quite close, Arthur’s Seat – an extinct volcano. The only time I really see it is when it gets really foggy and starts to disappear.

So, I usually spend every festival getting where I want to get as quickly as I can, which, with the sheer amounts of people walking around as if they are the only people in the world – i.e. SLOWLY – isn’t very quickly at all, and then going home and locking myself away until it’s all over. I pretty much go out smiling and come home in a bad mood, no matter how far I’ve travelled.

This year however, I had seen a billboard that caught my eye. It was for something called “Oh Hello!” and I recognised the catchphrase along with the face looking back at me on an off-orange colour background.

The man looking back at me was the late actor, Charles Hawtrey, who died in December 1988. If you know him, you’ll probably do so from his roles in a lot of the Carry On… films as he was one of the usual suspects and “Oh Hello!” was his thing, his catchphrase if you will, usually. I’m not going to write out his biography for you but the reason I tell you this is because I posted a little while ago, asking for opinions on a book I had written about Leonard Jackson, an older man dealing with a bad childhood he’d been in a perpetual state of denial about for a long time. And one of his friends, George, was inspired by Charles Hawtrey.

If you ever get a chance google him, his story is as fascinating as it was tragic.

This play, I found out, was a one man show about Charles Hawtrey’s life from the late 60s, after he’d begun working on the Carry On… films, and goes right to the 80s and I wanted to see it the minute I saw the poster. The day I had money I went to get a ticket for it and, after a short heart attack when the man told me there might not be tickets left, I had my ticket.

While there I bought tickets to see comedian Andrew Lawrence’s first preview that night, the 5th, and, for someone who hates the festival, I suddenly had tickets to two shows.

As if Edinburgh isn’t busy enough, from the 15th to the 31st of August, Edinuburgh always hosts the Edinburgh International Book Festival. It is something I don’t usually attend, purely because I don’t feel confident that I’ve read enough or know enough to fit in or because my social anxiety kicks in and I can’t bring myself to walk around by myself.

However, this year, Ian Rankin was talking about Rebus in a talk led by Phil Jupitus and I just had to go. Rankin is my favourite author of all time and I’d managed to hear about it before it went on sale so I thought I’d get a ticket, I already had a ticket for the play, I had already committed to attending something by myself in the festival so I thought one more wouldn’t hurt. Apparently everyone in Edinburgh had the same idea. When I went on the day sales opened to the box office I was told that was one of the first events to sell out but the man I spoke to did suggest I try phoning on the day of the event and asking about returns.

So I saw Andrew Lawrence at Assembly at the Roxy a couple of nights before the Festival officially opened and he was amazing. He was so socially and politically aware I felt a little out of my depth. I felt like he was the kind of friend in the pub that I could learn a lot from and wouldn’t ever disagree with, not because I actually agreed but because he knew more than me so he’d rip me to shreds if I did challenge him. He made a lot of good points about censorship in comedy and even made me feel sorry for him as he spoke about how friends of his in comedy and TV seemed to turn on him in the past few years. And, of course, he was funny. But he was a different kind of funny, not really in an observational way but in a thought-provoking way. And I walked away with a sore face from laughing while my brain debated points with itself.

On the 12th of August me and a couple of people I know went to see Frankie Boyle at the Assembly Rooms on George Street. I’d always wanted to see him, a lot of people say they don’t think he’s funny or he’s offensive or out of order. But as far as I’m concerned, you know these things going in the door so if you’re easily offended then don’t buy a ticket to see him. I was a little disheartened before I got there because a couple of people had said they’d loved his DVDs then went to see him and found the jokes a little desperate and not in the same style as his edited versions. So, I guess I didn’t have my hopes as high as they had been when I first bought the ticket. But I was glad to find that it was amazing, while there was a joke or two I didn’t get because of a reference I wasn’t privy to, be it age or culture or whatever, I never once felt disgusted or that something wasn’t funny. And, like Lawrence, and like every time I watch Frankie I found myself thinking about some of the points he’d made. Something as seemingly simple as the word “stressed” he’d made me think about, and it was as if he was as perplexed by the whole thing when he’d started thinking about it as we were listening to it. And I got the feeling that if we kept thinking about it we’d be just as fucked off as he was in no time.

I phoned on the 24th, the day of the talk, and managed to get a ticket to see Rankin at the book festival. I went to the tent at Charlotte’s Square and sat around reading an excerpt I was handed in the street with didn’t particularly attract my attention and then queued to get in. I was so nervous, social anxiety kicking in that, even though I had done every measure possible, my iPod or phone would magically turn themselves back on and go off. Eventually the boys came on and, to everyone’s surprise, Phil Jupitus was still in costume – he is playing Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in a play called “Impossible” about the real life feud between Doyle and Harry Houdini which I really wanted to see but couldn’t afford. So he sat there with his costume on, moustache and everything, while Ian sat in jeans, t-shirt and a jacket, joking that he felt under-dressed. Although, I suspect the whole room felt under-dressed.

The talk definitely felt like we were eavesdropping on a conversation between two friends in a pub as opposed to an interview but one that did exactly what it said on the tin, talk about Rebus and the books.

Rankin read an exert from his new Rebus book, “Even Dogs in the Wild”, out in November, and then discussed everything from music to his recent year out, to being in a band in university to being a student journalist. He was asked questions, including a bumbling one from myself which I still take as a win over my social anxiety. The whole thing was brilliant and furthered my adoration of Scotland’s favourite author who stuck around to sign books.

The next afternoon I saw “Oh Hello!” at Assembly on The Mound and was so glad I managed to get a ticket. Hawtrey was played by Jamie Rees who was a treat to watch. Not only did he have Hawtrey’s voice down, look like him, have his mannerisms perfected, including facial expressions and ticks I’ve seen him do in films and in that one rare interview I’ve watched online and had an excellent bash at impersonating Kenneth Williams when he was mentioned, he had mastered the spontaneity of the whole thing. Rees came on as Hawtrey and spoke to the crowd, telling stories I’ve read in “Whatshisname: The Life and Death of Charles Hawtrey” by Wes Butters and online as well as a wealth of material I’d never came across. He utilised a simple set of an armchair, drinks table, a small table by the chair with a telephone and picture of his mother on it and a window, making it feel very much like Hawtrey had invited us round to catch up and, as a result, making it much more personal.

I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened but at some point from when he stumbled in with a bottle of vodka to when he shuffled out with a stick Jamie Rees ceased to exist and Hawtrey was alive again. I’ve read about Hawtrey, finding myself fascinated by him and even using him as inspiration for a character in my book and I’ve felt such sorrow for him as I read his story. But I sat there watching, not a play, but something happening in real time and was struck with this pain that I couldn’t do anything to stop this man from drinking himself in a lonely corner that eventually became his tomb.

I even felt a little resentment towards Kenneth Williams for the way Hawtrey suggested, with his face and body language as well as his words, that Williams made his life just that little bit harder on set. Which, if you know me you’ll know, it is a hard thing to do, to make me feel anything negative towards Kenneth. And I felt a little guilty, as well as slightly happy, that I’d chosen these two men to inspire characters that were best friends for ten years at the start of my book because I think that’s how it should have been in life.

They seemed to have so much in common that I wished they would have accidentally stumbled into a conversation at one point, perhaps Kenneth would have been smoking on set and Hawtrey would walk over mumbling to himself about how the producer was an idiot, and maybe Kenneth would tell him to stop making a fool of himself and then Hawtrey would cut him down, telling him it was alright for Kenneth, he had top billing, he got his recognition. And then maybe Kenneth would make a remark about how being one of the people putting their name to and validating this type of so-called comedy isn’t exactly a reward. And maybe Charles would laugh and they’d talk a little about how they hated what they were doing but had no choice, about how Charles had worked with William Hayes for God’s sake and how Kenneth had been in theatre which everyone knew was a more sophisticated medium for performance. And maybe Charles would laugh and say, “oh you are wicked!” and Kenneth would laugh with his nose scrunched as they whispered little things about their co-stars like, “watch Sid looking at Babs when he thinks she’s not looking… Look. Oh, she almost caught him!” More laughter. “If she had turned any quicker she might have taken his eye out.” “That’d teach the old face-ache!” If they were left to it they might even get to talking about their mothers, who they devoted their lives to looking after, Kenneth’s even outliving him.

And maybe, even if they went back to bitching at each other every day after that, just for those five minutes one day, they wouldn’t have been so alone.

And that idea is where my first book came from. From the heartbreak I felt reading Kenneth Williams’ diaries and about Charles Hawtrey. And sitting in that chair in that little room, looking at the man in the armchair, holding a glass with whiskey, talking about how they did Carry On Crusing without him, I felt it break all over again.

While the festival’s aren’t over yet I don’t have any other plans to attend any events so that wraps up the fringe and book fest 2015 for me. I think I’ll be a more prevalent figure at Charlotte’s Square next year and if Jamie Rees comes back I’ll be first in line.

Tunnel Vision

I haven’t posted in a while, which I apologise for, but I have a good excuse.

I’ve been writing like crazy, or trying to.

I don’t know what it is but when I start writing it really is like getting on a train; you pass under little bridges where, for a short period of time, what you’re working on is all that you can think of. But you come out on the other side after that brief spell and you’re back in the normal world again, until the next bridge.

And then I get to the tunnels, where for a long time nothing else matters. And I have to admit it gets really quite bad. I used to drink a lot of energy drink and go for days without much sleep, sleep annoys me anyway so no big loss there. But alas, I have had to give up the energy drinks and tablets due to my heart condition, the pain they cause used to be worth it and then it all became unbearable and I didn’t want to put my already in trouble ticker under more stress. So, sleep and I have called a truce.

For now.

But I only give in when I’m falling asleep at the keyboard and everything else remains just as unimportant as it was. When I was writing my first book I survived on energy drink and a few hours sleep for five straight days – I didn’t shower, I barely ate and to be honest I barely moved from where I sat. It was a bit silly, not least because that left me with only nine days to revise for my HNC in Social Sciences graded exam. I got a B by the way. But mostly because… who does that?

It was a little less intense for book two and has stayed that way.

However, I woke up this morning and it seems I had emerged, momentarily, from the tunnel. My house was a mess, the kitchen was unbelievable, I had abandoned posting and reading on here, I completely forgot about my July ‘to be read’ list after one book, none of my fanfiction stories online have been updated in months and so many other things.

The only thing I have done for days is shower (thank god), eat whatever I could throw together, listen to the radio and watch NCIS in between these crazy sessions. While it doesn’t feel like I’m doing much on paper I spend hours looking between notes and researching online, even for just one line of text. And this is only fanfiction! I’m trying to speed up so I can complete this and get back to one of my own fiction works.

I suppose for me writing is like a cross between the opening titles of Doctor Who, when the tardis spins to the opening track and you feel like you’re in a big tube running through time; and when a ship goes into warp in Star Trek, the stars and everything else whiz past and everyone hangs on for dear life. Everything else just blurs past, you might be aware of it but you can’t focus.

I used to moan at my mum for not paying attention to things but now when I’m working and she talks to me I turn my head to her and it’s like trying to come out of a parallel universe. I can almost feel my head pulling out of the make-believe world I’ve created and landing before I blink, shake my head and say, “Sorry, say that again?”

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is sorry for the radio silence but I was working on something and haven’t forgotten you.

However, I am about to lose you in this tunnel…

I Could Use A Little Advice…

So, I’ve been doing a merry old dance recently, back and forth between having panic attacks and everything else where my books are concerned.

While I figure all of that out, I would like some advice on what you guys think of the books I’ve written so far.

Book 1 – “Leonard”.

Leonard Jackson has lived in Edinburgh all of his life and everything is boring and normal. So much so that he doesn’t even realise how much he’s let his childhood traumas affect his life right up to his mid-thirties. He might call it coping or others might say it’s denial, either way it’s all about to change when he gets a new friend, a new neighbour. Joanna Baxter moves in to the flat directly below Leonard and easily inserts herself into the dynamic he and his friend of ten years, George Holtby, have created for themselves. However, things do start to change and it unearths a lot of issues Leonard thought he’d buried. And they’re not about his lost confidence as a writer.

With the help of these two friends Leonard starts to see that maybe the past can stay there, maybe he’ll stop having weird dreams, maybe he’ll find a little happiness in his own existence other than just going through the motions.

Throw in some casual drug use, some sexual confusion, the odd death and I’d say there’s a book in here somewhere.

But, what do you guys think?

Do you want to know more, less?

Down the Rabbit Hole

So I have resigned myself to one fact – to look for an editor.

Or should I say, I had.

Now however, I’m having a nervous breakdown.

I picked up the same book I’ve been reading and re-reading for months, a how-to guide on how to self-publish and every time I pick it up I get more and more confused. This is not a reflection on the guide, it’s comprehensive, it’s easy to ready, it has everything.

It’s me.

I feel like I’ve stumbled upon that Cheshire Cat and my first thought was, “Yes! Someone to help me!” And now I’m looking around at all the other people who understand, who know what they’ve to do next or understand it all and I’m wondering if it’s just me?

I feel so confused about what I need to do next.

I have a finished book. Two, in fact.

And I have some money to go forward with.

But then there’s talk of tax which I have never done in my entire life, I’ve never had a job, I’ve never had to even think about tax; marketing plans; blogging about your book, but why would I do that, what do I say about it; reviewers? I don’t understand, why am I researching reviewers??; and then it goes on to talk about converting and pdf and this is where I go in search of whiskey.

I get so confused I end up thinking “book? what does this word mean? where is my dictionary? I need to find out what thei word ‘book’ means?”

“Taylor? Who is that? Is that me? What is a ‘me’? Where did I put that dictionary? What’s a ‘dictionary’?”

I thought, “Okay, I clearly can’t do this. So, Plan B – agent.”

Five minutes on the website looking for a “how to” on finding an agent and I’m now looking at job openings in normal everyday jobs that I will hate but those are confusing enough.

If anyone needs me I’ll be in the corner with a blanket and some Mikado.