Nothing Above my Shoulders but the Evening.

1. Happy birthday, commanderteddog! Long may you wave!

2. 90 minutes, and then there's nothing above my shoulders but the evening.

In which Pyat is entangled in the Web of Joy

Home now!

It's nice and warm in here, and the house smells of roast apple.

The girls are fighting some kind of Ruritanian duel with foam swords and pistols.

The other day, Elizabeth was talking about her Halloween decoration plans.

"I'll take all the spooky toys and put them in a big web, the Web of Terror. And I'll take the fun and not-spooky toys and put them in another web, the Web of Joy."