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Thursday 5 p.m.
I think we must have been due to blow up, Jack! The street outside is being dug up; jack hammers at midnight and dawn.
I took the photies in the allotment this afternoon apart from the nuclear explosion at the end of the street; that's the sun going down in the street near where Poisonous lives on Sunday evening.
The old, toothless one and I ran the hills last night; the running is now returning to the wonderfulness of old and the weight is still dropping off me.
The only bad thing has been smoking joints for the last fortnight. I was going to stop today, but it turns out I have to do some missionary work this evening.
The reconditioned computer thing the kiddo's boyfriend fixed up for me didn't work of course. Freezing. I took it back to the shop today. I wrote my first novel on an Imperial 66 typewriter. Wonderful thing. Changed the ribbons and that was that. A wonderful thing.
Fabulous things continue to develope in the bliss. I do the bliss and nicotine withdrawals simultaneously. Dearie, dearie me.
3 comments:
Hotters, you never said where Poisonous lives for the rest of the week. I understand. You're sworn to secrecy. I can't blame him for keeping on the move like Saddam. There must be lots of people (not me) who would like to do away with him.
Running at your age is an achievement. Cycling to the shops last week nearly did for me. Do you think meditating might help?
Haven't breathed as much what? I can think of a number of things you've breathed more of.
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