When I get my hands on some good onstage photos I shall spam you all to tears. In the meantime, apparently real life has carried on happening to other people. As for me, still cycling to work every day (Oh, I never told you, did I? Bicycle is called Catherine after the new duchess. Good name for a bicycle, no? I'm getting a leetle bit less frightened every day, soon I shall be a positive daredevil, wheee), computer is still broken and languishing in computer hospital (today's toast post brought to you by Simon's cute little toy laptop.)
A long time ago, before I let Bette on Toast slide into neglected decline, I had an Easter holiday. I had a lovely time. Here are some photographs of me having a lovely time:
Giving a lamb its breakfast, with STERN MISS HAMER VOICE
Balancing in a bluebell wood on Easter Sunday
This graceless infant is my distinguished grandfather:
And these photographs are of my great-great-great-grandmother, pictured with unbecoming ringlets. And an unbecoming face.
I suppose I ought to go to bed now, but I shouldn't think there's any point. Post-Show Bereavement manifests itself for me in insomnia. During show week I never get any amount of sleep, and then afterwards my body clock goes "You want me to go to bed? But it's merely 11 o'clock! Sleep is for ordinary people. We are thespian, darling!"
My body clock is a bit of a twat, really.