No more ideas… (from jumping on me, tapping my nose, or tugging at my fingers when I’m having a nap, and she wants her snap) No more proofreading (or tapping the keyboard) No more corrections (aka walking on the keyboard) No more tidying-up after me (neatly spread paperwork across the floor) She says she’s found other entertainment "They're all mine when the lights go out," she muttered, rolling her sleeves up. But she was  a big help with “The Afwican Gwey Pawwot”, waiting t

Froikit to The Pit! I duck. A sword flashing down at my head in the glittering light. Froikit!  Caught the back of my head a glancing blow and I’m on my knees. The fire’s spreading, creeping my way as I struggle to my feet… stumbling into the ranks of the leather-clad squad in their tallic helms, demonic yelling faces and spatha swords… Damn!  Leg giving way… an arrow thudding behind the knee… ‘Syrtius! Help me…’ I rage back to my feet… a spin with the falchyon blade, and the

‘No screw-ups tonight!’ Hell’s Kitchen   ‘No screw-ups tonight!’ ‘Get it in now!’ All this damn yelling and clattering. Same as always – busy nights. Near-on a full house through there, filling their faces. ‘Eighty-six that!’ ‘Over here, Slughead. Here. Here!’ Yeah, average mid-shift in the kitchen, me just a lowly soo-chef, flogging myself, busy as hell – Hell’s Kitchen alright. All hollering and good nature – the hell it is. The higher you are, the more foul your temper. We