Quiet before the storm

A thirsty night of wine and cheese-fuelled dreams: huge-jawed dogs biting each other's heads. Up for a breakfast of buttered toast and jam, and Lorraine fashioning a sheet into an Ancient Greek costume with a few safety pins and one of Anne's old gold coloured belts for Klaudia and then teaching her and Anton how to reassemble it at home. Oskar pleading unsuccessfully with me to dangle him upside down again, which my boozers' fragility ruled out.

Fond farewells to Anne, who it had been lovely to see, then Anton drove us all back to Brighton, through a strange day with the sun filtered whitely through the mist. I sat on the back seat with the bairns and they comically clung onto me when it was time to get out of the car. A surprisingly difficult and undignified struggle.

The remainder of the day spent quietly, nursing a thumping headache and reading the Kinglsey Amis letters written in his twenties to Philip Larkin. A mixture of rage, anxiety, soft porn and notes about Jazz filtered through a juvenile, but funny humour. Lorraine and I went for a stroll in the park and discussed our complex, life changing moves for tomorrow: a day of big property decisions and a trip for me to London to discuss my marketing book proposal with a publisher called Melody. Never a dull moment.

Below Lorraine and Klaudia in a curiously distorted iPhone snap.