Unusually, this year's Ascot was tedious. Not one drunken toff hurling chunks onto a police officer, nor an extremely expensive hat blowing into the track scant seconds before three tons of horses pounded it to junk. In fact nary a broken heel as someone stepped into a sewer grate - and I always love that one. Nothing in fact.
I have, however worked out a plot-ette for my apocalypse novel. It's taken me over a week. Couldn't have zombies, natch. Spilt diseases, lost diseases, demons, demons with diseases, demons with attitude, and no irritating tectonic shifts to send us all into oblivion or naughty aliens to help finish us off. It required a lot of research, to find something that wasn't there, because I want to do something original.
But finally I've found it and unless someone is already in the process of writing a novel with just my plot but has not yet released it then I'm safe.
Now all I've go to do is write it.
Don't go away; I'll be back in three months with the first draft.
That's not a clue; I just like the shot.
And my boss is pleased. After the enormous truck hit his car a few weeks ago whilst I was in it minding my own business, the other company were not playing and just as we were talking court cases, they finally caved in and admitted full responsibility. Yahaay!