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desperancePages: 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.
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.