Two swallows? So not a summer...

Good creative yesterday; good morning today. Took the LHP to the Lit & Phil, ensconced myself in the Silence Room and wrote a couple of pages on the Alexandria story, rat-a-tat.

Came home for lunch, and - nothing. Well, one sentence, but it's a short one. My brick wall, let me show you it.

Also - or therefore, or because - I am in a pit of gloom, which is a gloomy place to be. It's been lurking for a while (hell, make that a long while), but I think it's delurked. The struggle, I fear, naught availeth.

I'm not hungry, but I'm cooking anyway: comfortfudz'r'us. Shredded pork chilli soup, then, with potatoes'n'carrots for rooty goodness, onions'n'garlic'n'leeks for allial value, tomatoes for vitaminic efficiency, and more chillies. That's more than my five-a-day, I think?

Also I bought salts. Two different kilos of Italian sea salt from their last artisanal pans, including the pope's salt, which it's good of him to share. These are the sorts of things we do when we worry about money, inter alia; and besides, I'm into the last half-kilo of my grey sel de Guérande, and it wouldn't do to be running out of the good stuff. Also besides, at times like this it's good to think long-term, and two kilos will see me through for a while...