Monday, 23 January 2017

Blue Monday: Carla Atherstone guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today I welcome first-time guest Carla Atherstone, with an excerpt from her short story Something New.


Wendy doesn’t even know what it is she’s looking for, until she meets Lana. Sexy and glamorous, Lana’s unlike any other woman Wendy’s ever known – especially when Wendy discovers a substantial surprise in her pants.


Lana’s hips swayed as she walked; she had full hips and a gorgeously round arse. She was wearing a green thong; the top of it was just visible above the waistband of her jeans.

She stepped into the lift and beckoned Wendy in after her. As soon as the doors closed they were kissing, but it seemed only a moment later that the lift pinged and they had to compose themselves as the doors slid open again.

Wendy followed Lana down the corridor to the door of her flat, glad there was no one else around. Her face was burning and the gusset of her panties felt moist. Lana smiled back at her as she unlocked the door of the flat and stepped inside.

The door shut behind Wendy. The flat was neat and pleasant; a kitchen and a breakfast bar, a living room with a thick white pile carpet and a patio balcony giving a great view of the city. She wondered what the bedroom was like.

“Wine?” said Lana as she went into the kitchen.

“Please.”

“White or red?”

“White, please.”

Wendy ran to the toilet and peed. When she cleaned herself with the tissues, she was astonished to find how wet she was. She touched herself and shivered with delight; it would hardly take any effort to bring herself off. But she didn’t; she was here to let Lana do that. She pulled up her trousers and flushed instead.

In the living room Lana offered her a glass of wine. “To us.”

“To us,” said Wendy, and their glasses clinked. She took a sip of wine, then put the glass down and kissed Lana again. Lana cupped and stroked Wendy’s breasts through the blouse; Wendy pushed up the halter-top to expose her partner’s pert breasts — Lana wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples were a light brown, and quickly came erect as Wendy took first one, and then the other, in her mouth. Her skin was very smooth and soft, and tasted lightly of salt.

Lana pushed Wendy’s suit jacket off over her shoulders and began to unbutton her blouse. But Wendy was already sliding down to her knees, kissing Lana’s flat belly, her tongue toying with her navel and the little diamanté piercing there. She fumbled with the belt on Lana’s jeans, then the button and zipper, then pulled them down.

Lana slipped her tanned, slender feet out of her sandals, then stepped out of the jeans as they fell around her ankles. Every inch of her was smooth and tanned, unblemished, perfectly toned. She was naked now except for the green thong. Wendy reached up to stroke her belly and thighs, then hooked her thumbs into the thong and drew it down.

Lana’s cock, now limp, looked nothing like the thick truncheon Wendy had felt before. It was tiny, in fact, almost toy-like; a small pink thing curled shyly between Lana’s thighs, along with a pair of small, pink testicles. All were clean-shaven. Wendy reached out to cup Lana’s cock and balls, gently stroking the flaccid dick with her fingertips, kissing it gently, then running her tongue up and down its length. Lana gave a little gasp. Wendy lifted her cock; she kissed, then licked Lana’s balls, before taking them in her mouth to suck them.

Lana ran her fingers through Wendy’s hair. Wendy smiled, letting Lana’s testicles slip from her mouth before kissing her penis again. It was starting to thicken; Wendy ran her tongue around the tip several times, then took it in her mouth. Lana groaned and her hips began to move. Shucking off first her blouse and then her bra, Wendy began to suck her in earnest.

Lana’s cock was swelling in her mouth; it’s a grower, Wendy thought. Lana gripped her hair tighter. Wendy looked up. Lana was flushed, panting for breath, those green eyes drinking in every detail as Wendy unfastened her trousers, pulling them and her sodden panties down, kicking off her shoes as she struggled free.

Now completely naked, she took Lana back into her mouth. She looked up to see Lana’s head was thrown back. In the mirrored ceiling she could see her partner’s face: her eyes were screwed shut and she was biting her lip. Wendy smiled; it felt good to see Lana’s self-possession slip, to see lust taking her over as well.

Wendy took Lana’s cock from her mouth to study it. It bore no resemblance to the little pink thing she’d first seen; now it was the hard shaft that had pressed up against her in the alley once more. Bigger and thicker, if anything, and harder still. It jutted up proudly, veins standing out along its length; its round purple head bobbed in front of her face, still glistening from her mouth.

Lana looked down at her, breathing heavily, face flushed. Wendy smiled up at her and ran her tongue over the swollen cockhead, then began to kiss and lick and gently nibble at the head and shaft. Lana groaned, and Wendy smiled up at her again before pushing her head forward to take the full length of her cock in her mouth, then into her throat. Lana gasped and gripped her hair. Wendy sucked at her hard, squeezing her lover’s rounded hips and fondling her buttocks.

Lana’s grip on her head tightened. “Stop,” she breathed. Wendy looked up, and Lana withdrew from her mouth; a strand of pre-cum hung between Wendy’s lips and Lana’s cock. Lana reached down to cup Wendy’s breasts, stroking and fondling the soft warm flesh, rolling the nipples between thumbs and forefingers. She leant down and kissed Wendy again, her warm tongue probing deep into Wendy’s mouth. Then she whispered “Come on,” slipped her hand into Wendy’s, then led her out of the plush living room and through another door.

The flat’s bedroom was much bigger than Wendy had expected, decorated in soft pink and sporting a king-size bed with white satin sheets. She turned to face Lana, who pushed her back onto the bed and leant over her. She kissed Wendy again, then slid down, kissing and licking, sucking the soft flesh of Wendy’s breasts into her mouth, biting and nibbling gently at it with her white teeth. Then her mouth slid over Wendy’s stomach to the wet, trimmed bush between her legs. Wendy lay there, panting; every inch of her skin tingled with anticipation.


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Carla Atherstone is an enthusiastic newcomer to the world of erotica, but writing down the products of her filthily fertile imagination has rapidly become her second favourite pastime. Her third favourite is rambling among the hills, moors and woods around her home in the wilds of Lancashire; her first, of course – aided by her patient and understanding husband – is finding creative ways to pass those long winter nights. She has further stories coming from Deep Desires Press, and in Hot Chilli Erotica.

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Friday, 20 January 2017

The Magic Wall



So I heard that song on the radio (EARWORM WARNING!) and it starts with the lines:

I'm going down to Florence, gonna wear a pretty dress
I'll sit atop the Magic Wall with the voices in my head.

I looked for the Magic Wall online and, lo and behold, this is it:



The Wichahpi Wall in Alabama is an extraordinary piece of outsider art, created over 30 years by a single guy called Tom Hendrix in memorial of his great-great-grandmother Te-lah-nay, a Yuchi Indian deported on the Trail of Tears back in the 1830s, when she was 14. She hated life on the reservation so much that she took off and walked the 700 miles home.




Each stone in the wall - 9 million lbs in total weight he estimates - represents one step of her extraordinary 5-year journey. Hendrix has included rocks from all over the world, including Antarctica, and even a meteorite.


The wall winds about and folds back on itself. In total it is 1.25 miles long, making it the longest unmortared stone wall in America, and reportedly the largest memorial in existence to a woman.




It's a piece of art I find incredibly moving.

It's also a fine example of our instinct to sacralize the landscape. I suspect we have an inbuilt tendency, many of us, to see the spiritual and the natural together. That way lies the slippery slope of pantheistic paganism, of course - so the monotheistic religions do their best to cut sacred spaces off from nature, enclosing worshippers in synagogues, mosques and churches with no exterior view. But nature creeps back into those faiths in the form of sacred wells, stones, mountains and caves. And folk spirituality is drawn to the landscape, its first home. 

There are more photos of the Magic Wall  here

And this is Tom Hendrix talking about his project:


Wednesday, 18 January 2017

Bananaboat

You are not my family; you don't have to sit through hours of holiday photos of fish whilst I intone "Greasy Grouper... Nebulous Lizardfish... Chocolate Spottyfish..."

But I will show you this:


Because I spent all my teenaged leisure time quietly reading, playing D&D or (I kid you not) hanging out with the Church Youth Group, I somehow managed to miss out on riding a banana-boat.

Finally, I have caught up with being seventeen!

(And yes, we did get dumped in the water!)

Monday, 16 January 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today is in fact the Official Blue Monday in the Northern Hemisphere - that winter's day where moods hit a statistical low, supposedly. To counteract that, here's an excerpt from my short story Sun Seeking, which is all about a holiday on the beautiful sun-drenched Greek island of Delos which doesn't go quite as anticipated...

Love on the SUNNY SIDE, damnit!
‘Your family’s Greek?’

‘Originally. We live all over the place now.’

Shipping millionaires or something, I guessed.  Men might be from Mars, but the Rich are from another galaxy altogether. Phoebe tugged down a swathe of netting to block the taverna entrance and the speckled gloom deepened very slightly. I shivered. My damp dress was less comfortable now.

‘Come on,’ Phoebe said, twitching off a tablecloth and laying it on the sand at Xander’s feet. Taking the platter she sat herself down picnic-style and patted the cloth next to her. I slid out from behind the table, feeling a little weird now that there were only three of us left. I felt worse when I’d sat down and she scooted behind me so that I was reclining back against her. With a snort she snatched away the sunhat held casually at my breast. The damp cloth of my blouse still clung to places it was supposed to conceal. I squirmed inwardly. I hadn’t bargained on getting cornered by a strange man; it seemed far more risky than just going off with a girl. But, I thought, a woman would be on my side if it turned nasty – wouldn’t she?

‘Pretty, isn’t she?’ said Phoebe and Xander nodded, his enigmatic near-smile teasing. His fingers rippled up and down the strings of the guitar, weaving cascading tapestries of sound. Phoebe fed me the appetisers from the plate with her fingers, piece by piece. I tasted reluctantly the salty feta, juicy black olives, creamy tzatziki. I wasn’t feeling hungry. There was something creepy about the intimacy here; the way she was flirting with me in front of her brother’s steady gaze.

The trouble was, the more uneasy I felt, the hotter and wetter I grew. She traced my lips in yoghurt and I lapped at her finger. She dripped olive oil on my tongue and I tilted my head back to receive it. Each new transgression forced me to find the courage to accept it, and each act of submission made my pussy burn. I wanted to squirm my bottom on the sand. When she slid one hand up under my blouse to cup my breast I excused it to myself by saying that Xander couldn’t actually see my naked flesh. When she pulled back my head against her shoulder and kissed me, long and wet, her tongue sliding in and out of my mouth, I told myself I shouldn’t be prudish. When she rolled up my top to expose my nipples and took those points in her fingers, pulling and pinching them until they stood up fat as pink olives, then I mumbled in my head that every tourist in Greece went topless and it didn’t mean a thing. And all the time my pussy grew plumper and more slippery until I felt like I was all writhing sex and pleading tits.

She kissed all the strength out of me. She kissed me down to heavy, to passive, to open and empty, needing her forcefulness to fill me. When she withdrew from my mouth my lips were slack and swollen. I made little helpless noises in my throat.

‘Let’s get this off,’ she murmured, easing my blouse over my head.

I whimpered, my eyes pleading, but I didn’t resist. What difference did it make, after all, if my breasts jutted out from beneath the bunched fabric or whether my shoulders were bared too and the blouse discarded in the sand?

‘Shush,’ she ordered, pulling my head back by the hair so that she could lick my tongue. I was grateful; she understood me. My whimpers didn’t mean that I needed her to stop; they meant that I needed her to make me go on.

Once I was resting back in her arms she cupped my breasts from below, squeezing them as if fascinated by their weight and softness.

‘Beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘You have beautiful breasts.’ She looked up at Xander for confirmation and he nodded, one eyebrow raised, cool and distant. But his hands had slowed upon the guitar and the rapid intertwining notes were grown simpler now, as if the music were vying for his attention with something more elemental. ‘I could eat them up,’ Phoebe whispered in my ear. She took up a piece of cut cucumber and rubbed its wet cold flesh across the stiff tips of mine, glazing them shiny as the cucumber turned to pulp. ‘Do you like this?’

I nodded faintly. I couldn’t speak any more.

‘Let’s see.’ She pulled my skirt up slowly, finger over finger. Xander’s eyes, a merciless blue like the cloudless skies above the islands, were fixed upon us, barely blinking. ‘Yes. Let’s have a look.’ She cupped her hand over the mound of my sex and my hips twitched, my bum grinding into the cloth and the sand. ‘Yes. See this? She’s wet already, Xander.’

There was no denying that. The gusset of my tiny panties was soaked, the cotton already translucent from the seawater but more slippery with my juices. My thighs spread wider under her coaxing; he could look straight down between them. She pressed the cloth up against me. Then she slipped her fingers beneath the cotton and ploughed my furrow for real. ‘Beautiful pussy too,’ she breathed. ‘Oh Ness, is that nice?’

I mewed like a kitten. Her fingertip was stirring my clit to flames.

‘Pussy’s so wet. Pussy’s being naughty.’

There was no denying, either, what was happening here: if they really were siblings then this had gone way beyond kinky. It struck me with a kind of terror, which rendered me helpless as a rabbit in headlights. I was sagging against her arm, her right hand hooked up under my breast and tugging at my tit while her left hand delved deeper and deeper into my sex. Her fingers made little wet noises as they spread me wide.

‘Can you hear how wet she is?’

Xander dipped his chin in acknowledgement. His lips were parted. The notes fell slow and distinct from his fingers like drops of rain.

‘Dirty little pussy,’ Phoebe breathed. ‘Showing yourself for my brother.’

I began to come. She wasn’t even trying to bring me off, she was just touching me up, but I couldn’t bear her gloating judgement or the lancing blue of his eyes or the knowledge that she was exposing me and I was doing nothing to cling to my dignity. Electric sparks flashed through my clit.

‘Oh, what a slut. What a filthy little slut.’

And she was right, wasn’t she? thought I as I convulsed, hips and belly jerking, thrusting my tits up, longing for Xander to see them shaking, longing for Phoebe to enslave me further. The blood thundered in my ears.

Even as I came down, the pulse jumping all round my body as it does with that first easy orgasm, distress started to return in the backwash. But I had no time to think what to do next. Phoebe slipped from beneath my limp body and laid me back on the sand, pulling my arms over my head. I could feel the cool firm ripples of sand through the tablecloth. I could see the fishing nets and the vine leaves overhead. I felt her shift her position, pinning my arms to the sand under her shins. I heard the last note of the guitar fall silent. I looked down the length of my body and Phoebe slipped her hands under my head for a moment to support it. I saw the skirt rucked up around my hips and the pathetic wisp of cloth over my pubic mound and my sprawled, open thighs. Beyond them Xander laid his guitar gently aside and stood, and I knew that Phoebe was offering me to him as a gift.  


Buy the Love on the Dark Side anthology at 
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Monday, 9 January 2017

Blue Monday: Lucy Felthouse guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is the legendary Lucy Felthouse, with an excerpt from her newly-released collection Classic Felthouse.



Fancy a blast from the past? Then dip in to five short stories from the Lucy Felthouse archive. A handful of her earliest published tales have been polished up and presented to you in one seriously hot collection. Enjoy a sexy soldier, a buxom babe, erotic daydreams, filthy phone sex and a language barrier, and see where it all began for this prolific author of erotica and erotic romance.


Of course, he already knew what to do, he was just teasing me. Slender fingers crept up to join his face between my legs, and pulled my sticky knickers aside. I gasped at the contact, and then again as his tongue finally caressed my tortured pussy. He set to work licking up all the juices that had been secreted from my body, but as he did, my cunt continued to produce them. I realised he could be down there some time. Ah well, I thought, that’s no hardship. He was damn good at what he was doing, too, gently nipping at my outer labia, sucking them gently into his mouth one at a time, then letting go and letting his tongue dance around. He flicked briefly at my clit, then teasingly went lower, to the entrance of my pussy, and teased me there.

As he gave me expert head, my internal muscles tightened involuntarily. Then I experienced that familiar tingling feeling which told me an orgasm was on its way. To ensure Matt didn’t stop pleasuring me at a crucial moment, I crossed my ankles behind his head and pulled him more firmly to me. He seemed to relish in this mild act of domination, and suckled at my clit almost savagely. And that was it—all it took to trigger my climax. I thrust my hands into his hair as I moaned my pleasure aloud, unwilling to let him go.

But Matt had other ideas. Grinning wildly at the result of his efforts, he leaned up to kiss me, his lips now sticky with my juices. I kissed him back, deeply, still high on passion. I could feel his erection through his trousers now, mere layers of fabric between his cock and my aching cunt.

“Fuck me, now.” The words were out of my mouth before I knew it. Well, I couldn’t take them back.

Matt didn’t exactly resist, either. He unbuckled his belt, and undid his fly. Underneath he wore white boxers. My absolute favourite. His trousers dropped to his ankles as he stood on the step of the truck. He stroked his cock through his boxers and I longed to feel it inside me. But first…

I rooted around for my handbag. Finding it, I grabbed it, my fingers deftly opening it and diving into the inside pocket to retrieve an emergency condom. I always kept a couple in there, just in case. You just never know, do you? Horniness made my movements quick and precise. Within seconds the wrapper was open and the protection ready in my hand. I beckoned to Matt and he leaned over me once more. I opened the buttons on the front of his underwear and pulled out his prick.

And I was so very glad I did. It protruded proudly from his body, a lovely long and thick cock, nestling in nicely groomed pubic hair. I stroked it a couple of times and grinned as I saw the pre-cum seeping from the tip. It was so thick my hand barely fit around it, and I couldn’t wait to have it buried deep inside me. I rolled the condom on firmly, then laid back and grabbed Matt’s collar.

I yanked him down on top of me. His mouth met mine again and his delectable dick nestled against my wetness, my panties still shoved to one side. I pushed my hips towards his, hurrying him along. I wanted him, now. His resolve didn’t last long. After sliding his length up and down my vulva a couple of times, he suddenly plunged inside. I was so wet that he sunk right in with no resistance at all. We moaned simultaneously at the sensation, I of being filled, he of being surrounded by wet warmth. Then he began to move inside me, slowly at first, then building up speed.

He alternated thrusts; some slow and deep, others fast but shallow. I looked into his eyes and knew he was teasing me once more. He somehow knew how I wanted it, but was deliberately holding back. I grabbed his gorgeous firm arse cheeks and pulled him roughly to me and thrust towards him at the same time. I needed it hard, fast. I wanted to come again, spasming and squirting around his cock.

Now he couldn’t resist. He began to piston into me like some kind of machine. Hard, fast, deep strokes that had me screaming in delight, or would have done, had he not clamped a hand over my mouth. I gripped his arse like I would never let go, greedily pulling him into me.

I felt my second orgasm approaching and wrenched my face away from his hand. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel your cock pumping its load into me as I come. Fuck me as hard and fast as you can go.”

He didn’t need telling twice. He certainly tested the suspension on the truck! I thought my pussy was on fire, the friction was so deliciously hot. My pussy tightened once more, the telltale sign of my orgasm, then Matt slowed his pace.

“I’m coming, baby—now,” he said.

The sensation of his muscles contracting inside me gave me that final push. My own orgasm ripped through my body, more powerful than the last, making spots dance behind my eyelids and my back arch, pushing his cock yet deeper into me. We rode out our simultaneous climaxes, limbs entangled and breaths coming fast and shallow. He dropped down on to me, exhausted, his lips seeking mine for a tender kiss. I felt his heart beating madly against my chest, even through our clothes.

Conscious of where we were, we couldn’t afford too much recuperation time, so we kissed one final time and reluctantly began to rearrange ourselves.

Once decent, Matt held his hand out to help me out of the truck. “Think you can keep your hands off me this time?”

“Looks like I’ll have to.”


Buy Classic Felthouse at:

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Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller) and The Persecution of the Wolves. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 150 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at lucyfelthouse or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter

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Thursday, 5 January 2017

Pre-order In Bonds of the Earth!


In Bonds of the Earth is AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER direct from Sinful Press, and will ship in February.

The paperback is £10.99 : postage is free in the UK and £5 elsewhere.



Broad at the shoulders and lean at the hips, six foot-and-then-something of ropey muscle, he looks like a Spartan god who got lost in a thrift store. He moves like ink through water. And his eyes, when you get a good look at them, are silver. Not gray. Silver. You might take their inhuman shine for fancy contact lenses. You’d be wrong.

“I will free them all.”

When Milja Petak released the fallen angel Azazel from five thousand years of imprisonment, she did it out of love and pity. She found herself in a passionate sexual relationship beyond her imagining and control – the beloved plaything of a dark and furious demon who takes what he wants, when he wants, and submits to no restraint. But what she hasn’t bargained on is being drawn into his plan to free all his incarcerated brothers and wage a war against the Powers of Heaven.

As Azazel drags Milja across the globe in search of his fellow rebel angels, Milja fights to hold her own in a situation where every decision has dire consequences. Pursued by the loyal Archangels, she is forced to make alliances with those she cannot trust: the mysterious Roshana Veisi, who has designs of her own upon Azazel; and Egan Kansky, special forces agent of the Vatican – the man who once saved then betrayed her, who loves her, and who will do anything he can to imprison Azazel for all eternity.

Torn every way by love, by conflicting loyalties and by her own passions, Milja finds that she too is changing – and that she must do things she could not previously have dreamt of in order to save those who matter to her.

In Bonds of the Earth is the second in the Book of the Watchers trilogy and the sequel to Cover Him With Darkness.

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

An angel for 2017

An angel has blessed me with a visit...


We got back from our holiday awaytime to find that this had been posted through our letterbox.

I don't know if it's an anonymous gift from a friend/neighbour, or (as I suspect) some Christmassy outreach from one of the local churches.

But I love it.

It has no face, just a swirl of flaming hair. And look at its itsy-bitsy TERRIFYING SKELETAL ANGEL HANDS!


I'm going to call it Semyaza and hang it over my PC :-)


Saturday, 31 December 2016

Happy New Year!


Wishing you all a Happy New Year - may 2017 bring us all peace and hope and success.
XXX

Wednesday, 28 December 2016

2016 in the rearview mirror

Okay, no two ways about it - 2016 has been the most crushing, terrifying year on the political front, and to be honest it looks like it can only get worse in 2017. On top of that we've lost so many cultural icons dear to people of my generation that I'm reeling.

This is literally our best hope 

But this post is where, as every year, I frivolously look back on things I've enjoyed in the public domain.
So here goes, and here's hoping we're still here this time next year for another one.

Best Movie:


I watched 24 movies at the cinema this year, which started off well but saw a bit of a slump in the middle, quality-wise. My fave five in retrospect were:

Worst movie of the year? X-Men: Apocalypse, because I expect so much more of the X-Men than that.

Best TV:


A late great entry this year - Westworld - just pips the triumphant Game of Thrones Series 6 for my sofa-glue.


Honourable mention to Yonderland, for all the dick jokes ;-)

Best Music:

Oh dear. I haven't been to any gigs, or listened to any new music this year except for vintage episodes of Top of the Pops. Not sure why, except I've been doing less driving on my own now that Mr Ashbless is working in the UK.

Best Book:


I bought Empire of Death: a cultural history of ossuaries and charnel houses, on a library pilgrimage to Manchester. It is just stunning in both its photography and its textual content. If you are at all interested in this sort of subject, this is the book to buy.

Website of the Year:


Classical Art Memes fills me with guilty joy!

Best online photo:


This is a detail from Sleeping Forest by photographer Péter Bognár. You can see the whole thing here on his website. It fills me with sehnsucht and I could stare at it forever.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost

We all have miles to go. Best wishes for 2017, everyone.
XXX

Monday, 26 December 2016

Hoping Hell freezes over

The Devil Skating when Hell Freezes Over by John Collier (1850-1934)
Well, I failed to post for Xmas this year (too much cooking, sneezing and amaretto liqueur I'm afraid!) but I'm wishing you all a very happy holiday season and hoping for a peaceful 2017 for all, in which the world does not burn.

Well, we can hope...