A short break.

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I'm ill so I'm taking a few days off. Back shortly.

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Submit, eating well and stars through the clouds.

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1. Nick has to stand over me while I do it -- but at last I submit my tax return.  2. We have the fancy Christmas pasta for supper: striped sombreroni baked in tomato sauce; and for pudding Nana has sent four small ginger curd pastries.  3. I'm not sure when on my walk it happened, but the rain has eased and now I can see a few stars between the clouds.
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Leaving home, folk duo and this old thing.

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1. My goddaughter is now grown enough to move out. To bask in her parents' pride at the unfolding story over WhatsApp -- and to admire the way she has cleaned the stickers off her door before leaving. There's something to give parents hope (If you know you know!)  2. There's always something to surprise and delight at an open mic night -- and here comes a youthful folk duo, Drover: beards and bright eyes and big jumpers with original songs telling old, old stories. 3. When asked if I have something for the second half, all I have is 'this old thing, that duologue that you've heard before', but Peppy says it will do nicely. On a lark, I freshen it up by press-ganging a stray actor to sight read the other role, and I am pleased with my boldness, and his gameness. 
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Returns, ahead and pop.

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1. We've slipped a barcode into the packaging, and the courier has a label. This box will be passed from hand to van to hand to hand, and in due course, there will be a refund for this failed monitor. 2. The work that seemed impossible last week? I'm going to deliver it ahead of the deadline. 3. The pop of thread pulling through fabric tight in the hoop.
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