where art collides philosoperontap

There is a jobslist which has been partially completed. It includes a trip to the tip for which I have little inclination. It is cold outside. The house is warm. I am contemplating a trip to Mansfield to buy a cricket bat, as one does. A boy has been taken to and retrieved from his piano lesson and his hair has now been trimmed to a length he considers respectable. Hundreds of invitations have been sent to the Book 1 Launch Party and some advanced orders have already been taken for the book. A lunchtime bowl of soup has been consumed, laced with hot pepper sauce in recognition of the freezing outside temperatures. It is warm in this room. Life has frozen in time. I am under no pressure.