Window on the edge of town

Normal hours today. Lorraine up early and me working at my desk first thing on poetry in a room with a view, well with the novelty of a window at least and a perfectly pleasant outlook on the edge of nowhere estate we live in. It rained for most of the day. I walked half an hour to the supermarket and got drenched on the way home. A hot shower on returning. Strangely lonely abandoned feeling in this estate, and find I am missing Brighton, and even the dubious delights of London road.

Draining sore-throat and am finding it hard to prioritise. Instead, and guiltily knowing how hard Lorraine was working, read Murakami's new novel like a mad thing. Almost done. Spoke to Mark too this evening.

Betty arrived early this evening, driven here by a surly taxi driver. Gallingly the job she had lined up as a Christmas elf has now gone, as the company doing it has changed all their plans. Bastards. Beth though galled has taken it like a trouper. She also had her painful heel treated with ultrasound today. We hung out chatting as we prepared roast veggies which we ate with salmon and couscous when Lorraine got home late from more hideous Ofstead-inspired lateness.