La la la! New AJ Hall fiction up at ShoesForIndustry: Queer as Scent ,

which deals with a heavily-pregnant Narcissa Malfoy, a fox hunt, an enamoured and rather endearing Lucius, and Lord Voldemort.

Narcissa stretched out in the little parlour, overcome by exhaustion. Her need was for nothing so much as a stiff drink. Which was, of course, impossible. At the present time. She looked severely down at her abdomen. “Trust me on this one, Muppet,” she said aloud, “When I don't have to worry about your welfare, I've got only two ambitions. The first is, I'm going to go to New York. And when I get there, I'm going shopping. What for, you might well ask. Anything they didn't nail down first, ok? Understood? Following which, I'm travelling on to Reims. Which I'm planning to drink. Dry. Got that, Muppet?”

Her child's relative quiescence she decided to take as consent.

“I'm glad we understand each other,” she murmured, patting the bulge gently.

Mrs P. poked her head round the door, “Ma'am?”

She nodded wearily.

“I've put a trayful of herbal tea in your study, Ma'am. And I've made up the day-bed. I thought you might want to spend the rest of the day there, ma'am. Before the dinner.”

She nodded. And found herself stumbling along the corridor to the study almost without realizing she had done so.

She had been sitting unintelligently in front of the typewriter for some minutes before it occurred to her to turn her head round to the still-open window.

Perched on the cill was the one member of the Hunt everyone - it seemed - had by now forgotten.

Open-mouthed, she watched while the red-brown creature - her awkward bulginess betraying precisely why Sir Rufus had had his doubts about the sport she might afford him and his hounds at that particular time of the year - hopped through the window and into the study. Once there, she sat down on the day-bed regarding Narcissa with intelligent wariness. Narcissa spun slowly round on her chair, and looked back in turn at her unexpected visitor. It occurred to her that the vixen must have only managed to evade the Hunt by clinging by tooth and claw onto the Dark Lord's underwear when he Disapparated back to the Manor. Narcissa's lips quirked up unstoppably.

“I must say, I admire your style, girl," she said solemnly to the fox.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, Fay dearie! How are you?

Much like the turkey, I am stuffed. And, much like the pudding, I am alcoholic.

We did not murder the little old ladies, despite provocation. (My grandmother: "I don't believe in marrying outside of your culture" etc etc) We spoke to my wee sister who's in China right now. Santa brought nice things. The cat was unbelievably well behaved, as she has been ever since her unsolicited arrival on our front door step ("Hi, I'll be your cat for the forseeable future. Aren't I cute? Now, where do I put my bags?"), and made no attempts to eat the turkey, in spite of considerable temptation.

How 'bout yourself, love?

Much like the turkey, I am stuffed. And, much like the pudding, I am alcoholic.

Mmm. Fay.

Mmmm PMM. (Can't say PMM without saying MMmmmm, in fact.)

Oh, also - I'm all about the silver glitteriness today. Or at least the silver glittery sweater and the silver eyeliner. I adore our Christmas tree, which is made of fibreoptics. It's kitsch, yes, but it's also genuinely beautiful. Ah, Christmas - season of sparky things. And mince pies eaten with a slice of cheese. (In Yorkshire, at any rate.)

How 'bout yourself, love?

Watching an obscene amount of Trading Spaces, really trying to resist the urge to slash. We opened our presents last night, so it doesn't really feel like Christmas. Saw my older sister and brother, an aunt, and a grandmother. Now pigging on goldfish pretzels and pepsi.

I have silver glitter eyeshadow!

Mmm.

Will be seeing Bad Boys II, just to slash it, because hello? Trailer very gay.

goldfish pretzels.

blink.

Truly, your nation has some extraordinary foodstuffs. I take it this isn't actually some variation on prawn crackers?

Bad Boys. Now, was that the cop buddy film with Will Smith (Mmmmm, Will Smith. Shoulders. Hands. Chest. Big ol' ears. Mmmm.) and, er, that other chap? With the scene with Will running down a street with his shirt half-off, all flapping in the breeze? Watched that film in Romania with a gayboy pal and man, we were awash with the Will Smith Oost.

Although, of course, this may be a different film.

At some point I'm going to write Point Blank slash. Because THAT is the slashiest film I've ever seen.

Nope. Pretzel crackers in the shape of goldfish. They're yummy.

I've got glittery silly putty....