Message from the middle ages

Urgent vet call this morning. As I am still picking at fleas like a medieval monk. The cat mountebank says that it can take up to two weeks for all the fleas to die once you have sprayed them with your potions, and dosed your familiar till the poor thing is so strung out it starts meowing Moorish crumhorn solos.

Bah. Still the atrocious weasel Calliope was more lively this morning, and attacked my feet and hand by biting it with savage headshakes once she’d sunk her teeth in.

Plenty of errands to run today, altering my websites, doing some French work, combing fleas out of Calliope’s fur, sending letters to musicians, going to the bank, supermarket etc. And bah to admin. I want to write something fresh now. With the publication of A Guernsey Double I have cleared away quite a few poems, and it has left landscape less cluttered. It is great.

Computer tricknology acting up: this blog’s sidebar has disappeared to the foot of the page. Broadband sluggish, computer acting weird.