It is an evil plot to take over the world. A very, very good one.

This is the Isle of Harris. Mrs Harkaway took me there a long time ago. We thought it would be fun.

I have to tell you, it was a bit like the surface of the Moon. I’d sort of imagined there’d be lots of little low-ceilinged granite pubs with hearty fires. The trouble is, the whole place was set up as a whaling station and it’s mostly concrete. It’s also, you know: remote.

I have slippers now. They keep my feet warm. That’s a good thing, because it turns out that I can’t replace the old, funky boiler here at Harkaway Towers without also replacing the kitchen, which I can’t do without re-flooring the dining room, which in turn would probably mean redoing the staircases throughout the house, at which point I’d really be stupid not to address the problems with the soil pipes and the damp-coursing, and if I was doing all that, I’d have to be INSANE not to think about sorting out some extra space for when we decide to have tiny infant novelist-human rights lawyer children.

So the boiler is kind of a fixture for now.

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Speaking of Mrs Harkaway, she’s going to be in some kind of list of one hundred hot lawyers. I’m hugely jazzed about this, although I did blink when she came home on Friday, beaming with joy, and said:

“Honey, I’m going to be in a magazine as one of the hundred hawt-est lawyers in the UK!”

“ZOMG,” I thought, “seriously? Tell me it’s not a swimsuit edition?”

“No,” Mrs H said, “it’s not like some kind of Loaded Hot Barmaids thing. It’s about the brainy.”

Do you see how she did not hit me with anything or point out that I was being lecherous and infantile? This is love. Plus also, she started it by saying “hawt”.

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I feel I’ve cheated you slightly in this post; it’s random and there are no links. So… here’s a completely random link. It is a thing that I covet.