On air
Zombie morning. A trapped nerve in my back kept me wretchedly awake till 4am, when I decided to take one of my emergency flight-only diazepams.
By the time it came to do the radio show, I was okay. Popped down the road as the BBC is less than five minutes walk away and was given a cup of water and led into the studio with little ceremony. I talked to Allison about men without children, and after about 20 minutes she asked me to read a poem, Thought Daughter. I felt very relaxed, and this not all to do with Allison's professionalism. It just felt very natural, and I'd like to do more of it. Luckily they have asked me to send in other ideas if I have any, so I will. Who knows what will grow from these acorns.
On another note, I have grown a beard for the first time in my life. It is not a full-on Father Christmas beard, but a small and tidy one. I'm think it is quite butch. And the kitten rubs her face on it, and Lorraine has said she thinks it is a good thing. Of course Anton has already laughed at it. It would have been rude of him not to.
Calliope the kitten now loads better and is eating an astonishing amount. She has settled into a steady pattern now. 7:30am-11;00am run round like a maniac and attack computer and other leads and wires, attempt x 15 to climb vertically up my trousers, chase cat toys, spring about sideways looking comically fierce and biting my hands, clothes, ears etc. while I write. 11:00am-noon a snooze. Up for lunch, and a light play. Sleep all afternoon, then quickly into a manic 5pm-7pm, including obligatory poking of snout into human food. Snooze on owner like a feline scarf. Wake up for a little light play. Then 9pm till 11pm run around like a maniac, squeeze down side of refrigerator then bolt out like a wild faced cork, ambush me like a prey species from all points of the compass, shred newspapers, bite beard, attack laptop, then conk out to be poked into her box and left to her own nocturnal devices.
Zombie morning. A trapped nerve in my back kept me wretchedly awake till 4am, when I decided to take one of my emergency flight-only diazepams.
By the time it came to do the radio show, I was okay. Popped down the road as the BBC is less than five minutes walk away and was given a cup of water and led into the studio with little ceremony. I talked to Allison about men without children, and after about 20 minutes she asked me to read a poem, Thought Daughter. I felt very relaxed, and this not all to do with Allison's professionalism. It just felt very natural, and I'd like to do more of it. Luckily they have asked me to send in other ideas if I have any, so I will. Who knows what will grow from these acorns.
On another note, I have grown a beard for the first time in my life. It is not a full-on Father Christmas beard, but a small and tidy one. I'm think it is quite butch. And the kitten rubs her face on it, and Lorraine has said she thinks it is a good thing. Of course Anton has already laughed at it. It would have been rude of him not to.
Calliope the kitten now loads better and is eating an astonishing amount. She has settled into a steady pattern now. 7:30am-11;00am run round like a maniac and attack computer and other leads and wires, attempt x 15 to climb vertically up my trousers, chase cat toys, spring about sideways looking comically fierce and biting my hands, clothes, ears etc. while I write. 11:00am-noon a snooze. Up for lunch, and a light play. Sleep all afternoon, then quickly into a manic 5pm-7pm, including obligatory poking of snout into human food. Snooze on owner like a feline scarf. Wake up for a little light play. Then 9pm till 11pm run around like a maniac, squeeze down side of refrigerator then bolt out like a wild faced cork, ambush me like a prey species from all points of the compass, shred newspapers, bite beard, attack laptop, then conk out to be poked into her box and left to her own nocturnal devices.
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