Urgh

Hungover, I got up at five to get water. The kitten, after following me to the kitchen and back, took this as an invitation to rub her mouth on my lips with repulsive regularity. I felt too sordid to do anything else other than submit to this violation. Thankfully this eventually abated, and she fell asleep draped over my neck like a vibrating scarf.

A limbo day spent waiting for copy feedback which never came. Slipped off to the nearby supermarket to buy some veggies if only to say that I had at least left the house.

Woolworth's closing down sale featured heavily in the media. There is affection for Woolies. Even I, zero brand loyalty personified, liked it as a kid. It had airfix kits, and toys, and pick n mix sweets to be trousered. I remember bolting from the Neasden Woolies having stolen a single sweet, feeling horrendously guilty. I've never been cut out for crime.

Dipping into the poetry collections I bought yesterday, and listening to Arvo Part on my gold sofa. The new collection by Seamus Heany called District and Circle, hasn't yet buttered any of my parsnips, and collections by Nick Laird On purpose and Kathryn Simmonds Sunday at the Skin Launderette both seem worth reading.

Got a nice note from Joan, including this view of Ontario this morning from her house on Deviation Road.

Below This is what a proper winter looks like...