Sunday eventually was re-ordered so that I did the alterations to the frock, cycled round to the supermarket and sat in their cafe to finish beta-reading Contractually Obligated Thing, came home, did the corrections and was on time for a meal in Cafe Paradiso in the evening. I had a Carrie Bradshaw moment, stalking down the street in my fab dress and tres chic heels with my continuing confusion of St Thomas with the Lower East Side. Luckily, I was not splashed by a bus bearing a large banner ad of myself.

Herself_NYC is over from, er, NYC so Law and I went for the nice meal and then today Law suggested I tag along on the trip to see Dartmoor Prison (where the real horror is the painted gnomes in the prison visitor centre's shop) and have chips on Sidmouth seafront. So the day drifted away.

I've also, in a moment of insanity, offered to bake cookies for a friend's birthday party. I made up half a batch of the crack cookie dough and spent the morning experimenting with it, then making Herself and Law try the results. Both the standard and the ginger-and-sugar-coated versions were a success and I have the remainder of the dough awaiting trials with white chocolate chips and cointreau. Then next weekend, I bake a full size batch of the best ones.

The trouble is, with COT handed in, I feel lost. There's always this post-completion lull. All the projects that look so tempting when working, and which thus become great distractions from actually doing the writing, lose nearly all their appeal when the WIP is no longer there. Despite having a dozen things on the to do list (finish the baking experiments, get out the R43 and refresh my hair, sort out the garden, finish making notes from the overdue library book) I'm still sat in front of the PC thinking "What Are We Gonna Do Now?"