Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Point, prints and push.

1. At the first stroke, the sharp new point on my pencil pops and crumbles into a tiny constellation, black on white.

2. Dry morning. No-one in sight. Dew wet footprints on the path get fainter step by step.

3. One last push late at night to finish my day's proofreading.

News, white chocolate and Venice.

1. Instead of the horrible news on my phone, I have a new Fortean Times to read at breakfast. 2. I'm thinking there is no chance we...