JB gave me this cat years ago. He's waiting for spring, then he'll stand up amid the annuals.
There's no such thing as winter in London. This is the shed window box. Good thing I didn't go to great lengths to turn it into an outdoor study, considering just how little writing has happened lately. Stress brings on writing; that waiting room on Tuesday => immediate outpourings.
Had tea with the boss yesterday; agreed a gentle return-to-work plan. It's wonderful not to be dreading it any more - a clear sign of being stronger. Pity about the cold, but all things being relative, you can't have it all.
Insufficiently technically minded this month, so I can't find a way to hear Otto's Opera House. I'm making do with Handel on Radio 3.
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