Pass the pitchfork

This morning painting out some gold and red graffiti tags which had appeared in the Twitten on Saturday night. Chatting with Joy and Wan as I did so. Took a briefing at noon for a branding campaign for a Vodka I'd never heard of. Worked on this during the afternoon, being troubled by a croaking like that of a giant toad, which has been a bizarre feature of my neighbourhood for the last few weeks. It has put me in mind of various Victorian horror stories by someone like MR James, and I am pleased Lorraine has also heard it and that it is not some manifestation of a troubled mind. Actually it could be my subconscious objectifying the notion of work, a la Philip Larkin.

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?

After I finished my toadery this evening, I listened to A Passage to India, which I have now almost finished. I was about to take myself out for a walk, when Matt called as I left and we had a quick pint in the Shakespeare's Head instead. He had just been guest conducting.

Otherwise an uneventful day, and I'm still running on empty. But my arm improving steadily.

Calliope attacking my feet while I was still asleep this morning, painfully biting one of my toes. Booted her across the room in a half asleep reflex action and she got sick in my study later in the day in retribution. Feel like I am living with Cato out of The Pink Panther.