Start of the week

Patchy sleep last night, but up early. Another short story manuscript sent off. Contacted by Guernsey Literary festival as two of the poems I had entered their competition were too long -- and luckily I could resend. I negotiated a small smidge of work for my pals in Paris to start tomorrow, and had a bracing afternoon walk while listening to another Robert Aickman story. Looking from the hills at the grey sea, and clouds rolling over from the north. Chatted with Anton about how great his food was, and with Mum about coming up next weekend. Cooked for Lorraine. All good.