Whilst painting I managed to spill my cup of tea. Usually a catastrophe of such proportions would cause me to curl up in the fetal position and start crying over the waste of such lovely nectar. This time however, before my tear ducts could react, I saw something in the spill.
Before I knew it the Muse was upon me and I searched frantically for a pencil lest my creative urge abandoned me. After about a long minute of searching I found one behind my ear (damn those days spent on building sites) now all I had to do was a few quick lines and the Muse disappeared to relieve Molly Quirke (age 9) of a small case of creative block related to drawing a horse.