Ahh, tis the fair Astrid.
Are you well, my love?
I fear you fret needlessly.
Come, take my hand, Ill be your ghost of NIAD2-to-come.
Here we stand outside the Stevens household. We won’t knock, there’s no point, because nobody can see or hear us. We’ll go in. Listen, Sweet-thing, hubby is in the kitchen. Let’s take a peek. Bless him! He’s in his frilly apron…or is it yours? He appears to be baking.
We’ll leave him and go in to the writer’s den. Ahh…there you are…see…reclining on the settee, in the fully horizontal position, save for your pretty head, which is propped up with a silken pillow, at well nigh 90* to your body, so as not to put undue strain on your lovely swan like neck, whilst at the same time, facilitating efficient observation of your two forefingers, prolifically pounding away at the keyboard of the MacBook Pro, resting on your tummy.
And look, too! Close by the settee, within easy reach, a coffee table, resplendent, with glass of red wine, packet of Benson and Hedges KIngsize Filter tipped, a couple of good sized spiffs, and large lead crystal ashtray. Also, stood on the floor by the table, again, within easy reach, we can see two bottles of Aldi’s Winking Owl Shiraz.
Astrid, my dear child, as you can see, you have nothing to fret over.
Take care, and Good Luck (not that you;ll need it).
Vicx x