journal of a writing man

This is why I keep putting on weight.  I was just sitting here thinking it was time I had my dinner.  Could taste it, almost.  Then my brain switched in just enough to inform me that I had my dinner about an hour ago.

What am I to do with me?

A kitten is like a haiku, I suppose. You know when it works. It’s impossible to say why when it doesn’t. Kittens don’t do ‘why’:

Saturday December 1, 2007

To the holiday camp early this morning, dropping Graham off to do for the annual Hunt Ball.  He sounded cheerful enough when we spoke on the phone after lunch but I reckon he’d rather be home doing stuff to the house.

Yesterday was to have been a red letter coffee day. Our old grinder bust a gut a little while back and Graham has been searching for a replacement.  It came today, heavy, luxurious and threatening all at once, and functions perfectly.  And then the coffee maker bust a gut.  It’s booked to be picked up and taken off to be repaired on Monday.

“B+^&&~@,” said Graham.

“You could say that.”

“I just did.”

“Fine. We’re unanimous about that, then.  Shall I go get the faithful old caffetiere?”

“Better had or we’ll not get a decent cup of coffee this side of Christmas.  I’ll run off a dose at filter grind.”

“What do you reckon, then?” he asked when we’d produced and sipped a brew.

“B+^&&~@ brilliant.”

So we sat at the kitchen table sipping contentedly at the blessed brew and all was well with our world.

Actually, the coffee, though blissful in flavour, was too hot.  I reckon he’s been corrupted by the Starbucks approach to coffee. I didn’t argue, though. Who’s to quibble over the finer shades of coffee excellence?