AMBASSADRESS: GONE TO POT
Awoken, not by the fragrant scent of freshly ground and brewed coffee, but by the acrid odour of burning metal and melting plastic, a series of possibilities presented themselves to the semi-conscious brain. As in : Which should I save first ? The laptop or the beagle ? And where did I put that smart peignoir as opposed to the dressing gown with the hole in the sleeve ? Because, if I am going to sweep dramatically down three flights of stairs and…
