Dear Mrs Rate...

I regret to inform you that i shall be unable to attend monday night's formal dinner, as I will be attending a talk by Neil Gaiman, acclaimed writer of science fiction porn. I feel that exposure to such writing talent cannot but enhance my skills with regard to my future career. I have information to indicate that he will be airing a new short story at the Sydney Writer's Festival, and i wouldn't miss it for all the world. So, I'm terribly sorry, but I'll just have to miss the nice ladylike charity dinner at The Women's College. So sad.
Yours insincerely,
Amy Brown.

ah. got that out of my system :D

no, that wasn't the apology i handed in. the one i handed in was most banal... and when mrs rate asked me about neil, i babbled something about gothic and black comedy, even though my mind was screaming 'SCI FI PORN!' the whole time. I really, really want to know what her reaction would be to the idea of sci fi porn. Kate laughs hysterically... i think Mrs Rate would split into a thousand tiny pieces. really.

which reminds me, this dinner time conversation the other night:

me: so i have to apologise for monday night... wondering what mrs rate would say if i wrote 'acclaimed writer of sci fi porn'...
mum: WHAT? Robbie, is this the stuf you've been giving her?
dad: no. *flashes amused glance at me*
me: no. he told me i should get it out of the library when he wasn't around, though. :D

Kate's ruminations on the possibilities of sci-fi porn:
So, what is it? Sex with tentacles? I mean, zero gravity i could get, that works... but sex with tentacles...

I should like to submit a formal complaint to the official bureau of formal complaints

The vodka thing i was drinking

a) did not make me happy or even slightly fuzzy

b) gave me a headache

and c) tasted bad.