Righty-ho. We're off!

It feels as if someone just turned a giant spotlight on me and I've been struck with stagefright. I feel a bit shy, actually. Faced with the vastness of cyberspace, I'm speechless. Or textless. Or postless. Or tweetless. Whatever the youth are calling it these days. As you'll quickly gather, gentle reader, I am a blog virgin. A blirgin, if you will. Be prepared for aimless bumblings around cyberspace and galleries of poorly-shot photos. And you'll have to look at them and admire them (just imagine that I'm five years old and have just shoved my first finger-painting into your waiting hands. Oh, yes sirree, my photographic fingerpaintings are going on the cyberfridge for all to see.) Yup, that's what you're in for.

It's a freezing cold Bavarian night and I have - wait for it, wait for it - not one, but TWO hot water bottles waiting for me in bed (one for my back, one for my feet.) As I write, wispy snowflakes are drifting down past my window, caught in the light of the streetlamp. I'm wrapped up in a crochet blanket, sitting at my laptop at midnight on a January evening... re-reading all of this and realising how romantic it all sounds. The reality is, I'm freezing to death because I'm sitting in a draught, my husband, aka Mr Gingerbread, is next door slaughtering Orcs and dragons with a bunch of nerds who really ought to know better. And I'm following the lazy downward path of the glittery snowflakes, knowing that I'll be shovelling the little buggers off the front path at six a.m. tomorrow morning.