Friday is the new Thursday

Walked back from Lorraine's house and worked on atrial fibrillation and strokes all day, I have a great brief for this, which makes a world of difference. Which is just as well as I have to work on it all day tomorrow as well. Broke off from scribing in the Twitten at elevenses to paint out a tag which had appeared on a wall near me and send off my Root and Branch poem for the competition. At lunchtime to collect my flyers and posters for Wrong . They look great. Also took the opportunity to print up and frame Ken's 80th birthday poem. I decorated the page's footer with a silhouette of the walls and towers of Carcassonne Castle, near where he lived in the south of France.

Felt exhausted a five when I stopped working. I tried a catnap but Calliope woke me by crawling under my blanket and doing happy feet on me. I have been heartless this week, chucking her off my desk and so on. But I have the cat-shredded toilet roll to prove it, not to mention a marked absence of socks. I must search for the sock nest soon. She is no fan of the cold, so at least it should be indoors.

Then a man who was waiting for a dealer who didn't turn up had a massive freak out in the Twitten sobbing and raging mainly about how his life was so terrible and that he had ADHD. I felt sorry for him, but I'm afraid I wasn't about to go out and comfort him.

In the evening Lorraine and I met in the station and cabbed around to John's house in Hove for a dinner party with him and Matt, where a lovely crab and lobster soup was my favourite course. Ate a few hunks of bread for the first time in a month, and a few morsels of cheese. Delicious but filling. John's flat rather nice, very tidy and clean with some lovely art. One big abstract by Wayne dominating the living room. Matt still not well after the cold from hell, which he's had ever since Wayne went on holiday. He has spent his free time looking at squirrels, and plotting the set list for the Rainbow Chorus CD.