Eagle eyed readers of this blog will remember that I made a comment about being simultaneously attracted and repulsed by women with tattoos, but after this past week, I've changed my opinion.
I'm definitely a fan.
In fact, when I come out of my literary seclusion, my crazed hermit existence here in Southwell, I'm going to actively seek a mate/partner/girlfriend/fbuddy with an ornate tattoo.
When the conversation between man and woman has ended and a comfortable silence has descended, you can have endless hours of fun just staring at them in the lamplight.
I expect so, anyway.
We're approaching the 10,000 word mark on TIW. I've introduced Jake, the handsome Historian. I've called him Jake. It came down to Jake or Toby and I tossed a coin and a man has to have a name.
Emily is getting darker by the page and I've got lighten her up soon because you'll dislike her and she isn't supposed to be Countess Dracula,
I mean, if you're a bloke, you'd nail Emily within an inch of her life, but you wouldn't hang around afterwards for tea and a bacon sandwich.
She has an emasculating Praying Mantis quality about her, a Black Widow spider ambience - examples of both insects, coincidentally, she has tattooed somewhere on her person.
Her boyfriend Alan, who I have modelled on Aesop, the beatific, friendly, kindly but reputedly ugly wandering teller of fables, is getting the full treatment as the rain falls on Bilborough, as it is doing everywhere else in this most miserable of summers.
Can anyone remember a summer as bad as this?
Dawn and I are designing the covers for Hollywood Shakedown and The Illustrated Woman tonight. The cover for Carla is done and I'm buzzing about it.
From now on, I'll never design a cover again. I promise!