In search of the perfect sausage

Completed the first chapter of new story, which has the working title of The Echo. And then got busy filing, opening piles of unopened envelopes, tidying and generally organising and throwing stuff away. A bit like a spring clean, but in September. Suddenly, and uncharacteristically, clutter and untidiness are my enemies.

Today is Anton and Bob's birthday. I'd spoken to the old Mad Dog yesterday, and I joined Anton, Anna and the Bairns in The Batty to sit in the garden in the sun. Anton's Birthday month has officially begun. Sadly I had no present yet for him, but he is in a happy place: on the cusp of a new craze. Mincing meat and fashioning your own sausages are now de rigueur for Anton has started a quest for the perfect sausage. This sparked reminiscences of our trip to Munich with Jane and Christian and Brian, where we ate, with no exaggeration, hundreds of sausages between us.

The children full of beans, Klaudia now able to play all sorts of complicated games on her parents' iPhones. The family off to find food, and I sloped back to resume ironing, while brooding about my next literary steps, breaking off to speak to Janet and Lorraine and pour over a jam recipe that Mum has sent me.

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