Well, you know, sometimes a splash of colour is not unhelpful. The large pot of water I am boiling for pasta has most likely boiled dry by now but I'm concerned about it. I suppose the worst thing would be if The Peach burned down but I'm fairly sure that won't happen, not straight away, not without me noticing some smoke and telephoning the fire brigade first. I assume the cat would have enough sense to leave the building if it were on fire.
I'm hiding in my bedroom. I have been here all day, with the exception of short missions to forage for food in the kitchen or stand gratefully under hot jets of water in the shower. I've been trying to have a day like this all week. I kept getting sidetracked by things that needed doing or phone calls to return or yet another dreaded trip to the post office carting a box full of magazines to post but not today. Today I stayed determinedly in my Eyeore pyjamas reading a second-hand copy of The English Patient. It took six hours but I have fallen firmly in love with Michael Ondaatje. Three more days of this I might just be ready to reemerge into the world.