I know that horses can't throw up - according to my daughter. However that piffling detail doesn't stop it barfing its revolting breath all over me while trying to mince my foot into the ground at the same time. My crime? I gave it a carrot while I was mucking it out today. My crime? I only gave it one carrot while I was mucking it out today. Heaven forbid my spawn should get her designer boots dirty, so yet again it was down to me. Last week it was sub zero. Then when it got bored with that it pelted us with rain for three days. Today, just for a change of pace, it's sub zero and pelting down with rain.
I don't care whether it is the end of the world next week, but I'm going to finish this book. But according to the very clever Kay Kauffman (why didn't I think of this) they didn't include leap years which meant that we should have been dust nearly nine months ago. Bit of a relief really. My head was so thick this morning after nearly six hours of writing, I wouldn't have noticed Armageddon if it had knocked at the door carrying a scythe.
Back to the writing. I'm half way through the book and even though I know exactly (probably) what's going to happen, for me this is always the hardest part.