Arty farty

The man I love, apart from the wondrous Mr Smith of course, rang me yesterday. My heart went all pitter pattery. He is my boss, so actually it's his money I really love rather than him. The lovely thing about him is he gives me work; lovely work of the sort you'd almost pay to do. It's a bit hush at the mo because I don't like to shout about arty jobs until I definitely have them in my paw and am applying paint. Whilst at the drawing board stage you have to be careful as the job could either go to someone else or get shelved. I don't want to do any chicken counting so to speak but I can't wait to start.