wytchcroft

.

you can take the mountain from the molehill
and in the world of things an unexpectedly defrosted freezer really is just small potatoes.
but small, green, pestilential potatoes - rather like socks.

ah the nights spent listening to the drip-drip-dripping, i almost miss it (no i don't actually thanks all the same) - talk about yer ambient music; i should've recorded it. But honestly, once free of the ice mine - i made like a grateful dwarf and went to bed. (at least my mind did).

in between which i have been having fun making fake book covers and blurbs for Piphill...
...which i might post a couple of, once i get the OK.
well, back to the day ho hey hi ho hi ho and whatever else dwarfs do in Disney-styled fairy tales...
"Make like the Anthill Mob, boys - and cheese it to Chug-a-boom!"

yeah, that's all.

oh oh - except wait - here you go:



this candid shot captures the difficulties faced by the tiny wytch-studios-was-it-again-i-forget.
as you can see, a diva-fit throwing actor is going on the rampage and scaryfying the be-whatsits out of a poor unpaid pine-costumed extra.
the Mallard (at no small fee) is not a duck.