I've seen three sets of 3am blink past with red digital clarity. I've been examining the qualities of night. Here at The Peach there is no discernible difference between midnight and the beginnings of dawn. At the old house the stars rotated and you could feel the pull of hours, winds, temperatures and time but here in the city they have progress. Electric lights, aeroplanes, boats, the always drone of engines and the synchronised tapping of heels on concrete.
The Spatula and I have a history of disagreeing about things such as condiment storage solutions, the necessity of novel reading and different kinds of men. Sputnik the satellite man is a new friend of The Spatula's, a grown up sleep over kind of friend, and I find myself unable to form any serious objections to him.
Grizelda has always pronounced not the word she was thinking of but a different word entirely. This week she stared at her computer screen to find that she had typed words backwards. She stood to the right of the sink, next to the disused coffee machine, a green milk jug and one pink tea cup and told me that she does not know how to spell words forwards let alone backwards. I believe she might be developing a new very mild superpower, either that or a serious brain disease.