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One of my class asked to read Thomas Malory's Morte d'Arthur recently. I have a lovely Gothic type edition, in the original spelling, with woodcut illustrations by Ransome, I think. His first comment was 'Why couldn't they spell then?'
I salted his crops so nothing would grow for three years, razed his village to the ground, slaughtered the first-born of his tribe, and gave him a detention.
Standard response. First offence, and I didn't want to be too harsh.
I am leaning towards your marmalade cock-fighting for my first Lit story, by the way. Not sure anyone else has trumped that yet.![]()
That is an awesome sweater.

The fire and the rose are one.
My Sweet Duncan doesn't like the fact that it's pouring outside. He's been up for over an hour and won't go out to pee.
I don't like the fact that all of this precipitation is being wasted on Rain rather than Snow. Especially the week of Christmas.![]()
*humps*
The cat is mad at me. I won't let her sleep on my boobs while I work. This is why we can't have nice things.
How old is your son? Does he just not like indoor plumbing?