under another sun

Into the arms of Morpheus Another bad night staring at the ceiling till dawn. Off to the mountebank this morning and was given sleeping pills. Too braindead to do anything much, managed two hours of sleep on the sofa this afternoon, which made me feel human again. Simon aka Alf the plumber came by and took my boiler apart. It is like waiting for the outcome of a serious surgery. Will it pull through? The fan which draws the gas up to heat the water no longer works. I am looking at a hefty bill plus a week without a boiler. Simon however a lovely chap, and he even knew about the play having done some work at John's house lately. Calliope very much involved in the pluming action. Have been using Lorraine's blower heater, however this was pointing at my best shoes, and has affected one so that the sole has begun to come away from the shoe. I can't believe how much money I can hemorrhage by sitting quietly at home. Actually looking forward to being in bed. Maybe the pill will h...

O soothest sleep Decided, as there was nothing pressing, to declare today a PK holiday. Pottered down to the gym, ironed 10 shirts, organised and folded everything in my airing cupboard, and saw Lorraine briefly in the afternoon as she was working from home. I'm craving sleep. I want to drift my boat into a lake of sleep for several weeks. But had an extra hour today, and when not sleeping and pottering, I listened to A Passage to India again. It is such a good book, and it is pure pleasure to hear it read, and rapier sharp after the occasionally plodding Stieg Larsson. Calliope bringing big moths into the house all evening, accelerating past me so that I could not rescue them in their attempts to blunder free. There must be a poem in this somehow, to go with the Moth Display poem which I already have.