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.

Tarry, rolling back and one last taste.

1. Much that I would like to sit and visit for longer packed in with red and crimson cushions and blankets, lit by a bright window and drink...