It was a dark and stormy night

No really! Take a look at this! And this! So there's this piece of skylight that's a little loose in my roof and bangs in the wind? Well, there's not any more. The wind smashed half of it and I ripped the rest off myself. Some of it is still embedded in my hand.

But am I bovvered? I ain't bovvered. Because:
1: It feels like I'm finally getting over this cold. Two weeks! Two weeks is not right to be feeling like a zombie. Also:

2: 880 words! In 30 minutes! That's what I call writing at speed. Next story nearly finished. We're just over halfway through the year and I'm just over halfway through my writing goals for the year. This is a good thing.

And while we're on the subject of things I ain't bovvered about. Catherine Tate in the next season of Doctor Who. Unlike Behind the Sofa and quite possibly everyone else in the universe, I think she's going to be great. Sure, Martha will be missed, but I reckon it's going to be good.

They've met before and all. And not just in the Christmas special:

Who wants a drink?

Last four or five stories I've written, at some point my protagonists have ended up in a pub, where they proceed to, well, just sit and drink. For ages. Sitting, talking, pouring out pints of infodump. And it's always hard to get them out of there back onto the street and the rest of the story.

Does anyone else have this problem? Is my subconscious telling me something?