NaNoWriMo (Nov 2006)

Miffy I have ten fingers and ten toes, all of which were arrested at the age of eight and ordered to freeze. My limbs still bear a gnat's purse of baby fat apiece and my running is a toddle at best. My belly is firm and round like an oversized brioche loaf, my belly button a white choc chip nestling below a flatland. My chest would be the first thing below sea level if this second Ice Age would ever make up its mind about whether it's on its way or not.

Zoom And in other news this week, Bray Fairfax, star of such blockbusters as "Hit Parade and "She's Got My Foot has once again been courting a slap from religious purists with her controversial and oft vocalised views on certain anti-aging remedies. During a charity gala for the World Blemish Fund last night, which she was compering, Fairfax remarked in her introductory speech that "God would want us to look good, right? He gave us these bodies to take care of, and I'm gonna take care of mine however the hell I see fit. She went on to quote the famous story "Footprints, in which a man questions the whereabouts of his Lord when the two sets of footprints he has seen behind him become just one. Fairfax cited the work done by 'co-pilots' working for Peaches and Cream treatment providers as being similar to that of the Lord figure, carrying the believer in times of trouble. It is worth noting at this point a red wine stain on the white halter dress sported by Ms F, who was escorted off stage shortly after making the statement.

Dr. N. Quellar M.D. Well anyway, Tommy was brought in to see me because his mother said she was worried about him. Mentioned personality problems and fears for his mental health prompted by odd behaviour. I had an idea in my mind of the sort of young man I would encounter, but nothing prepared me for the boy's visit to my practice.

Miffy I wonder if sound, like smoke, rises. Sat up here on the studio roof, the sirens from the street seem to leap to meet my ears. A gull wheels around the chimney stack looking confused and lost. I saw a group of his brothers flap by earlier, and consider telling him, but keep quiet and let him do a few more circuits before lolloping off through the smog.

Andaw I wake up three hours later. Gilligan's masks don't seem to knock me out as strongly as ones I've had in the past. It must be because she does things a bit at a time. Spot a line? Send it off. Liver spot? Send it off. Most of my clients in previous incarnations have saved up their blips and sent them to me in concentrated masks, each marked with a red cross. I used to absolutely dread those. Three hours? More like three days at a time. I would wake up feeling like I'd swallowed a tub of butter and washed it down with sour milk. My limbs would ache constantly and the only activity I could muster would be to roll around in bed, trying to find the numbest position. Any food I tried to consume bounced back up as if a spring sat coiled in my gullet, and my strength, had I been a computer sprite, would have been down to the last bar. And yet a month or two later, I would do it all again in a blink. Money really is a great healer.

Channel 22 - OK, and now it's that part of the show where we ask our celebrity guest to tell us a story. So, Penny Velle, will you do the honours? - I most certainly will, Vinzel. OK, this tale may or may not have concerned my grandmother, who may or may not have worked as a ring hand in the Beckettini Circus around the turn of the century. Bear in mind that I could have taken this straight from an out-of-copyright fairytale collection. Or yesterday's paper. But anyway.

Insa Mum's been stockpiling value chicken soup for weeks. The watery stuff that retails for less than dust. It's pathetic, like she's using her primitive medicinal skills to their utmost to try and solve what's wrong with my sister and coming up with nothing but tins and tins of liquified animal arsehole. Occasionally she'll detour via ginger, or lavender oil, but really I think her train of thought stops at three main backwaters: daytime chatshows, quiz books and chicken soup.

Pila It's raining again. It hasn't stopped since I got back from Farlan Street that day. As if I don't stay indoors enough, it seems the weather wants me out of trouble altogether. My shower this morning was the first in two weeks, and all the better as a result. Flushing the grease out of my hair and replacing it with jojoba and NutriVite molecules (so the bottle informed me) was another pleasure to add to the list. The list that is weakening significantly in effectiveness with each day that passes.

Casenotes Here's how to find me: stop looking and start listening to your nose. I am wrapped up in the smells of every choice you make in the supermarket. The floor cleaner you gravitate towards

I ave cheated here a little in terms of word count, by including, as was suggested by ABC-ers a couple times, Lacrimophilia as part of my novel. You're not meant to include pre-written stuff, but since I've given up trying to hit the word count for the month anyway, I think it is OK to put in a story that naturally popped up.

Martaro *starflower*: Hey hey GardenGnome: Hi *starflower*: You've not been online for a bit. How's you GardenGnome: Good. Just been busy with work. *starflower*: Work eh? Shifty¦:P

Insa I would say Andaw's hiding something, but the man's a walking goldfish bowl. Every line on his face, every blemish, the suspect swelling of one pectoral muscle slash breast, it's all a kind of confession. That or a zoo he is cursed to carry with him, each of the exhibits screeching his misdoings. He'll only say he can't talk about it for my sake. I for my part tell him most things about myself, stopping just short of where I like to be nibbled.

Pila (continued) No, no, it's something else. It's not a movie. It's not all a movie. She's something else. It's like having a half-digested pill stuck in your throat. It feels like it will be wedged there forever, calcifying, resisting orders to dissolve. You swallow and swallow, stretching your throat muscles like wingbuds, and nothing happens, but you know it's there. Oh, where is she from?