27 March 2013



  • Exactly the sort of accurate article I hate - or do i mean fear? - to read.
  • I'm already muscle-atrophied from basking in my freedom from vile gardenry. Now I have to cope with lack of 'plasticity' in the playground. 
  • Un-connected, ill-attuned.
  • Vote me low vagal.
  • I love the idea of the 'heart's capacity for friendship'.
As always, these things come badly timed:

  • Tonight is the Birthday of the Year, the one glittering occasion to which le tout corfou jostles for an invitation.
  •  I have made the cut and need to be at my effervescentest.
  • April loometh and with it my annual 'Piece of Work' tribute to my girls' stolen jewels.
  • April 7th, to be exact. A Sunday.  
  • Strawberries and champagne on what had better be a sun-drenched lawn, muzak booming from the speakers, animals walked and caulked. 

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