Oh joy of joys and most awe-inspiring of terrors.
The Beautiful One sat beside me on the bus.
(I knew it was him from his pretty hands and Discman and, er, sniffle.)
What did I do?
Stun him with my amazing looks?
Bowl him over with my witty repartee?
Slyly initiate a falling-into-his lap on the hairpen bends?
No, that would be someone who wasn't me.
I - fell asleep.
As my mother put it, 'A cute guy sits down beside you and you fall asleep. And not even on his shoulder. You're hopeless and probably adopted and you will never give me grandchildren, WILL YOU?'
On the upside, if I continue churning out 2,000 words a night for Nanowrimo I should well have reached the 50,000 limit by the end of October.
And I'm certain that, somewhere along the line, a plot will turn up...rather red-faced, and mumbling about the traffic...