Wednesday, November 05, 2008

The holes, a colleague and wonderful man.

1. Butter drips through the holes in my crumpet.

2. Debbie buys my lunch because I've forgotten my purse.

3. I come home to a hug; and 'My poor darling and her distraught early morning phone call'; and my summer shoes, the mould cleaned off, lined up under the bedroom heater.

Wet Sunday, resting and re-do.

1. We wake to the sound of heavy rain -- just right for a simple Sunday. 2. I put my dough in a bowl to rest, and take a quiet half-hour mys...