Ding dong merrily in Autumn/ author pictures

It is still September, isn't it? I mean, I haven't fallen over a cat or chicken, knocked myself unconscious and spent the last 12 weeks in a coma only to wake and find I've got exactly two days to do my Christmas shopping and track down a goose, have I? I ask this only because on my last couple of trips to town 'bits of Christmas' seem to be infiltrating themselves onto shop shelves. I've seen cards and wrapping paper already, along with Advent candles and a vast selection of tree decorations. I admit that when I saw the candles I thought 'Oooh, advent candles!' and I nearly bought one before remembering there was Hallowe'en, Guy Fawkes Night and my birthday to negotiate first before I even begin to think about Christmas. Absolute madness and I refuse to give the subject a moment's more air time. I was just checking, that's all.

My second topic for today is regarding my writing career. It suddenly occured to me that at some point I shall probably need to have some publicity photos done. More and more magazines and competitions are asking for photos of the author and what happens if I get a novel published?? Well, I researched the back of a few books to suss out author blurb and it's amazing how many are pictured with their cats. It has to be said that a lot of the cats appear to be unwilling participants in these photo shoots. They look strained and/or angry, like they are trying to get away from their owner's grip as soon as possible in case the camera steals their soul. Of course, this won't happen when I hug Tybalt to myself and say 'smile for the camera, Tiblobs'. He'll snuggle up under my chin and look cute and won't struggle and leave huge and bloody lacerations across my chest and up my arms. Oh no!

Andy did a few shots of me holding the chickens last week. Mrs B was wrapped in a towel as she had just had her medication for her 'condition'. (Don't tell them about my condition,' boks Mrs B. 'My oviduct is my business and no-one else's') so she was a captive audience. She had also been plied with grapes and sunflower seeds so she was quite happy. Unfortunately, she doesn't look great at the moment, because of her 'condition' ('I've warned you', says Mrs B, 'shut it') so I grabbed Mrs Miggins instead, who did her 'I'm ready for mating, where's the cock?' pose and then pooped down the front of my jeans. So author photo with chickens is no go.

Phoebe would be happy to be photographed only because she objects to walking and would rather be carried everywhere. However, she is the crossest looking cat in the world and I don't want to scare my readership.

Perhaps it should be just me. Or I could borrow my friends black labrador. Or my son's gerbils. 'The author, pictured here with her gerbils.....' Hmmmm, doesn't sound quite right, does it?