I’m Australian but I’ve lived in London since 2005. Even though the summer ended only 23 days ago In the evenings I have my trusty blue Laura Ashley blanket pulled up to my shoulders as I watch television. It’s not like I’m swanning round the flat in my bra and knickers. Writing this, I’ve found the need to cocoon myself because the flat is arctic cold. I'm freezing.

Other than living rugged up as if I’m living in Alaska, another concern has arisen, my husband hates this blanket. Who could hate Laura Ashley? The blanket’s ‘home’ has simply become a debated topic. For me, the blanket lives on the sofa. Apparently I’ve become attached, grown a Laura Ashley type tail.

Yesterday my husband jumped on a train to booze it up in York at a book convention. He told me to 'enjoy my night on the couch.' Indeed I would. Home alone with an episode of The Collection, a guilt free Magnum and warmth from my blanket. I planned to indulge myself. Pure bliss.

As I bit almond flakes off my ice cream a black shape crawled over my knees. The house filled with a high-pitched scream, my scream and I catapulted off the couch, casting blanket, ice cream and everything to the floor. A black spider scurried across the floor. How dare a spider watch tv and live in my blanket?

Had this been what my husband was referring to when he told me to 'enjoy my evening'? Eventually I evicted the scurrying spider out the front of the flat. All the while I could help wondering whether my husband secretly left me the spider as a surprise. Surely not. Regardless, he got his way, I’m throwing in the blanket. That’s right. I’m turning on the heating. Who says I ever have to acclimatize?

In between this drama with the blanket and the spider, I’ve managed to continue on with Phoebe's Performance....

Thanks for reading, if you have a chance, please do pop past my books on Goodreads / Amazon and write me a review.

Have a great weekend.