The ol’ ball and chain – sorry, I mean my darling husband – is reading Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov at the moment. He told me a charming little anecdote from the book wherein sickly young Vlad is presented by his mother with a giant pencil, part of a display from a stationery store. Best part — the pencil actually writes. Anyway, it led to this doodle which gets more, er, suggestive every time I look at it :
So, yeah. Sorry about that.