This is it. My fiftieth fic. In two-and-a-half years I have thrown 334.532 words on the page (plus deleted a fair few more) and received numerous reviews, PMs, likes and reblogs. I have become part of an ever-changing, welcoming community and have made amazing friends I could not imagine being without.
(Further A/N when you click through!)
excerpt: On the other side of the glass is Mr Charles Carson, the star of his own show: a mid-morning staple for the Yorkshire forty-five to seventy demographic - the age group with the most expendable income and it shows in their ratings and the ad breaks for luxury cruises, life insurance policies and the RAC.
He sits at an old-fashioned wooden desk, facing her, but he is always fiddling with his record player, laptop and mic and she knows he has a thick block note filled with hundreds of little facts he collects and shares with his listeners. Sometimes he reuses his factoids, knowing there are few people who have the memory of an elephant (like Elsie has) and she always smiles when he gets enthusiastic about a personal favourite.
Thank you, deeedeeedeeedeee and owlsiehoot for your neverending support, kindness, love and beta magic.