Status

[desperance]

Pages: one before I left home (I would say "before coffee", but that would be a lie this morning) and two at the Lit & Phil. Which makes three. And a half, but we don't count halves: only the pure page, indivisible. Which is a habit carried over from my early days with typewriters, when I never liked to leave a page in the machine because it would bend around the platen [now there's a word I haven't used in twenty years or so] and never quite unkink again.

So. Another long afternoon ahead; but we know that another four pages before dinner is perfectly possible. He said, to himself, sternly.

Right now, I want my lunch. "Must have my lunch," as Freddie says to Charles, in Peter's absence (I think). I have fresh bread today, and good things to heap upon it: mostly in the line of smoked ham and saucisson sec and sauerkraut. I fear I may have fallen under the malign influence of my cats ("What, you, Chaz?" I hear you cry, "no, never in the world! How can you think it?"): I appear to believe it is impossible to come home without sossidge from the market. Wild boar today, and also red wine; I am assuming there's something else included in the latter, or else it would be squishier.

Comments

[lamentables.livejournal.com]

There is clearly some kind of nationwide tiny!cauliflower epidemic, as two have been spotted in our veg box. I'm thinking some kind of alien invasion? Or maybe they're related to tribbles, because they really do look rather charming and harmless.

[badbookworm.livejournal.com]

Perhaps they are the larval stage of cats, and the next phase of the revolution has begun? (Note denial of malign influence, above, primary symptom of the Minion Effect)