Cat burglars and playwrights

Calliope presented me with a woman's white wool glove this morning as I was working on the The Sick Day. Later I noticed her with a pair of my socks in her mouth, followed by the snick of the catflap. Calliope returned some time later, empty mouthed. I searched in vain for a sock nest in my yard and suspect her of trading socks for gloves in some cat cartel.

The morning was spent happily writing, and in the afternoon I met a new friend Randolph for coffee. He is an American playwright - and it was fascinating to talk to him for two and a half hours over a single americano. Nice to discuss writerly matters, and hear about his plays. Randolph's wife writes academic books, and said "what shall I do now then, wait to die?" after getting a rejection this week. This made me laugh. Randolph's play Only Free Men was on at the Brighton's Komedia last year, and will be on in Lewes this year. He told me he is also working on a new play about alcoholism.

Heard from the Cat with the Hat today, chiding me for not getting in touch with him, and wondering if I wanted to do another interview about sustainability matters again, and I agreed. Sounding very upbeat about an operation next week. He is also very upbeat about Obama, which as a black American he finds particularly pleasing.

Lurked cheerfully indoors this evening with Lorraine and a roast chicken, gave Lorraine gin, and watched Chelsea rightfully overcome shrimpy Southend in the FA Cup.

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