1. We get up late and the kitchen is bohemian (as in, the washing up hasn't been done and there are books and papers all over the table). This gives me an excuse to get my breakfast (a round and friendly Belgian bun stuffed with raisins and covered with crackly, sticky white icing) from a bakery on my way to work.
2. The plinky-plunky sound of an un-tuned piano comes from an open front door at which a child waits to be taken to school.
3. Reading a book that has a chapter is dialect. I'm reading the middle chapter of The Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell (not the one by Liam Callanan about balloon bombs in the Arctic, which I read thinking it was the Mitchell. It was very good, too).