Saturday, 23 February 2008

Daily wasps strike again.

This time I didn't even hear it buzz but suddenly it was there on the Velux window, looking for a way out, so I opened the window and bravely prodded it out with a piece of paper. Where ARE the pests coming from?

Stomach bulletin. Daphne the magical masseuse massaged my tum with tea tree oil again on Wednesday and all the pain went. Then on Thursday I decided to have myself a stir fry with couscous, which my stomach didn't like at all. Today it's calmed down again. Tonight I shall have scrambled egg and absolutely no Saturday glass of wine. I want to be well in order to meet some old friends at the Tate Modern tomorrow.

The Festival Hall has a Poetry Library website on which, picking from a short list of random words, you can devise your own poem and send it to a friend. Mine, entitled Night Shift, reads:

Indigo intrigue
brittle twilight office
furred words
crush precious sleeping

What does it mean? Not as much as it would have done if the word 'dreams' had been on the list, and I could have put it in the place of 'sleeping'. I hope they give us a new selection soon. But it's fun having a go. Find it at

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