glowy happiness and stuff
The Great Wen is all Woolfian and blossomy.
I don't even mind my snot going black (though I'd much rather it didn't). I find people ignoring each other on the tube endearing. I've successfully resisted suggesting to tourists that if they really find Covent Garden mime artists so fascinating, it says very little for what they've left at home in Florence/Tokyo/Chicago, and pointing out that squirrels are just rats with perms and good PR. I'm enjoying that burnt-rubber air. I had nightmares for three nights about marquetry after going to look at the Freuds in the Wallace (terrifying amounts of Boulle, clocks so covered in nymphs and flowers you can barely see the hands, Phantom of the Opera-style chandeliers...)
I'm writing VigBean and reading Smollett and Dodie Smith. I made a bechamel that didn't curl up and die (or kill anyone).
Because, you know. Love. Glowy happiness and stuff.
I don't even mind my snot going black (though I'd much rather it didn't). I find people ignoring each other on the tube endearing. I've successfully resisted suggesting to tourists that if they really find Covent Garden mime artists so fascinating, it says very little for what they've left at home in Florence/Tokyo/Chicago, and pointing out that squirrels are just rats with perms and good PR. I'm enjoying that burnt-rubber air. I had nightmares for three nights about marquetry after going to look at the Freuds in the Wallace (terrifying amounts of Boulle, clocks so covered in nymphs and flowers you can barely see the hands, Phantom of the Opera-style chandeliers...)
I'm writing VigBean and reading Smollett and Dodie Smith. I made a bechamel that didn't curl up and die (or kill anyone).
Because, you know. Love. Glowy happiness and stuff.