The Stars and the Cookie Jar

My book is going on sale at www.shocklines.com in a couple of DAYS.

I'm still quite dejected, sitting here; I went to the Old Grist Mill on a Monday night and did not get petite prime rib, for Chrissakes. We slurped broth -- admittedly superlative broth -- and munched greens morosely and I didn't have the heart even to oogle some other table's beef.
The swans tried to kill me, unrelatedly. One of them managed to untie the lace of my trainer. We ran away. The leftover breadroll from dinner did not, alas, survive.

I miss my girl. I cried in the airport at the TSA gates, and I cried on the kerb with the wind drying my face.
I am a large, slightly scalded sack of pathetic, yes.

But, anyway. Pictures later tonight, as soon as she gets off the plane in Far, Far Away.