Sofa industry

A day of calm, no beers and no curries. Doing laundry and business admin bits this morning. A text from Mark with a photo of the poem I had written for his wedding in 1989. Working on poems this morning, and sent some of the newer ones to Robin and Sarah. Robin liked them, which was reassuring. Emailing the agency in Paddington about payment. The boards at the bottom of the Kenny coffers are bleakly visible, as the wheelbarrows of Paddington doubloons have yet to be tipped in. The prospect of a cashless Christmas is slightly worrying.

To sundial where Jewel gave me a massage at midday, which made me feel pleasantly boneless and sleepy this afternoon, ironing out all the back evils that accumulated from commuting and sitting at a desk on a broken chair for weeks on end. Went to the post office on the way home in a curiously mellow way. Then home, where I had a deep post massage doze for 40 minutes.

Then coffee, and popped outside in the pouring rain. Then cooked and when a frazzled Lorraine when she came home after Pilates smoothed and fed her. Tonight Lorraine sat on the gold sofa and wrote cards in gold pen for all the children in school, and I stuffed them in envelopes, like a cottage industry we were.