1) that I would get up and go to work in a minute; and
2) three narrative sentences and an accompanying image of Spike and Giles trying their hand at DIY.
Two hours later, when it's far too late to go to work, those sentences are still running round my brain. It must be the bad!fic writer in me clawing her way to the surface, and it seems to me that the only way I'll free my mind from her persistently nagging voice is by jotting them down -- so excuse me while I indulge for a second:
"Bloody hell!", the vampire exclaimed, quickly putting the offending digit in his mouth, thereby preventing another stream of expletives from leaving his lips.
"Oh dear God", muttered Giles despairingly. Feeling a sudden headache coming on, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
There, that's better! Now I can think about how to get the hair dye stains out of yesterday's T-shirt...