A-muse-ing myself

With wilful neglect I left The Muse chatting up a dodgy Greek waiter last month.

I was fed up with her fickle ways and smug tones and I got on the plane home without her. She looked happy enough in my silver lurex bikini and genuine Dolechee and Kebabbana sunglasses but she still hasn't come home.

I don't mind about the erratic shopping lists, or the sloppily constructed notes to the Feckers, but I have half a mind to do some writing but she is still having a blonde moment and is romancing Panos Christos Mikos Stupidos in some bar in Kalamaki.

Anyway while she is getting her slut fix I wondered what it would be like to be a Muse, an inspirational, creative juice enhancing Minx! Heh heh....

(Minx with a pearl earring and a rather fetching hair wrap)

(Mona "fat cheeks" Minx)

(Marie Antoinminx - loving the hair extensions!)

Oh dear, the King of Muse would be turning over in his grave....

(Bard from an awful lot of pubs)

Anyway, if you see the harlot, send her home and tell her to bring some more of those nice olives. If not then please just share your musings in the box provided below and hopefully I can at least have a laugh.

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I started thinking (always a dangerous pastime) and wondered if kick-starting some writing could come from no apparent kick.

I have turned off the editor (who is probably sat at some bar somewhere anyway) and let the fingers free to do as they will.

Nothing is happening....

I need coffee.

Can you just ramble on about nothing and find it interesting?

The answer is no, Kate, you are beyond stupid. Can you get beyond stupid? Are there stages of stupid and what about before stupid - what's that?

Anyway, I'm not interested in the slightest. My own inner voice has bored the pants off me for a while now. How the fuck do you feel? If I am bored then how can you be interested in the inane claptrap that often adorns this blog?

I need a wee - the toilet seat is still broken, in case you wanted to know.

I have the mind of the femalest of female butterflies, I can't even go to the loo without being distracted by thoughts that have no relevance to the job in hand - erk! I am wondering if the Feckers have started eating toilet paper - am I not buying enough food - are they resorting to quilted muesli?

And why am I buying quilted toilet paper - eeeek, I have been brainwashed by the very adverts that I don't watch. What is wrong with ordinary paper with which to wipe - we lived with the unquilted variety for years and years and before that there was school loo paper? Paper? Paper? That was not paper. That was some kind of genital torture with the absorbancy of teflon.

Small Fecker is now talking to me in the voice of King Julian from the film Madagascar - there is no hope for any of us.

I need nicotine.

King Julian says that there is something that I shouldn't be missing on the tv but he is lying to get me off the computer. I shall give up the hot seat but not before I have ordered a ton of school loo paper.

I really should eat.

Hunted in fridge and found a piece of crusty cheese, half a tomato - (who puts half a tomato back in the fridge?) and a tub of houmous that has crisps already added - how thoughtful!

So, I will try not to lose hope about my writing and I will pray to the small Gods of Good Blogging that one day this stream of consciousness turns into a river and I can start making sense again.

And so the wait begins........