I am. I am indeed.
I've been very busy. Oh yes. I've been recovering from ME (I'm nearly there, anyhow) and lots of other lovely things. I've been doing yoga with this lovely lady at this lovely place. I've been making more cakes, many, many more cakes, and generally thanking my lucky stars I can play with the Little Lattes again rather than lying about in bed watching Smallville repeats and watching the room spin round.
I've got a new little button down there on the right - you can listen to Elizabeth Irvine's relaxation podcast aimed at mothers, which I have been doing practically every day for the last six months. Go on. It's just another lovely thing.
I've been reading - most notably The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters by G W Dahlquist, a fantastic pageturning hokum lump of gothicity with lots of fun, skulking and sexual deviance; Haweswater by Sarah Hall, The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O'Farrell, and Some New Ambush, stories by Carys Davies, which was so, so good that it made me dig my old Alice Munro stories out. Sometimes you forget how good short stories can be, and Davies can certainly remind you.
Oh, and Graham Swift's Tomorrow, which was just irritating. Which is a shame, because Waterland was mindblowing.