Evening. At least the coming long weekend will bring some light relief from the weekday routine.
I tend to the Morso with this routine now well rehearsed, making sure that the ash in the tray is merely warm - emptying the tray and then giving the thing a good 'raddle'. S likes that word...'Is it a real word'? 'raddle'. 'No idea', says I. 'But it's in the manual.'
Radio 4 murmers in the darkness. A programme about 'Britishness'. As I tap out this missive, I note the glow of the Blackberry illuminating the bulge of my Horlicks-engorged belly.
Enough. Time to turn in and escape into sleep. Shall I walk in to work tomorrow?
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