Trapped in my bag, only - no mammaries for company...

If I wasn't on suicide watch, I would regail you with tales of preposterous prisoners stuffed in suitcases. Of the transparency of cats. Of the obtaining of convoluted lockery and it's resolution. Of employment and another attempting at the casting out of Xym in furtherance of ideals of foreign nationals in Scotchland who have no skills or infrastructure to do anything.

But, freewheeling down a depressive incline of a rapidly increasing steepness, I shan't!

So, no blog today.

However, a picture of the nudie sock-clad mexican Houdini's facepalm moment needs to be added, to mask my misery and chaperone chucklement gingerly back in apologetic shame.