The Return of Fat Gandalf

 Gods, look what the cat’s dragged in.
 
Eighteen months trapped in a washing machine spin cycle of mental illness triggered by the sudden return of people into my safe little Aspie world after the bliss of lockdown isolation.
 
If any of my lovely old Blogville neighbours still check in here from time to time, I can only grovel and genefluct in your general direction and especially apologise to folk I should have emailed but couldn’t bring myself to make the human contact. Sitting in front of the pooter, trying to email folk but shaking with the horror of it all (and a fair amount of vomiting, too) was not something I anticipated but these things happen and here I am, attempting to do my first blog post in way too long.

I'm still not venturing back to Fæcebook; that's too big a step. First, we'll see if I can keep this up.
 
On a happier note, things are coming along slowly but carefully at the Castle, so I’ll do some catch-up posts on that for anyone who’s interested.
 
Next post, we’ll find out what happens when you set fire to a Fat Hobbit and watch it burn …Yes, really.