Fantasy Unicorns

Hideous night of not sleeping. Reminded me of something I'd read on Facebook the other day: 'Insomniacs! Great news. Only three sleeps till Christmas.' I lay awake thinking about lots of troubling things. None more troubling than thinking about No Time Is Passing, the brilliant Robert Aickman story I had read during the day, which became incredibly disturbing when I thought about wide-eyed at 4.00 am.

Up and gradually up, although I felt dazed and a bit out of it all day.  We drove around to pick up Betty and John and then drove off to Ashford to see Pat and Maureen, and Ken. We all went to a shop called Longacres at Bybrook Barn, that Maureen is keen on. All manner of things sold there from plants and tropical fish, to (wonderfully) Lebkuchen, as well as things like a Fantasy Unicorn Microwaveable Hottie, and a ceramic angler, man shaped but with a fish face with barbels. Lorraine wondered what a non-fantasy unicorn was.

Home and Ken cooked a curry. John said he hoped it wasn't Sharwoods, to which Pat said no, it was Ken Woods. While Ken cooked, and created a cloud of spice that floated from the kitchen, the rest of us played John's weaponised version of rummy. Really good curry, and a cheery day.

Then a surprisingly swift journey home, dropping off the two young 'uns before home to a nice cup of Ovaltine.


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