It had to be an early night, and you aren’t allowed to touch the local moonshine. It’s an early train up in to the mountains to the next flat. Everything has to be packed up again.
Deciding on a takeaway pizza for the evening meal was the biggest exercise in negotiations since the Maastricht treaty was ratified in 1992.
Learning something well means that you finally become able to properly improvise; at least as far as I understand it.
My mind keeps popping in the notion that this is somehow a new problem, a by-product of our new, over-connected technological age. But that’s nonsense.
We are in the process of trying to explore the possibility of – perhaps – attempting to persuade our local authority if they would like to, one day, conditions permitting, sell us a small plot of woodland.
Sometimes my full attention is devoted to a conversation I am having, yet it is generally assumed that I am on a different planet altogether. I don’t know why.
Because we shop on a Saturday, by Friday night the fridge and cupboards look rather sparse. We plan, and we stick to our plans. We don’t just guess what we might need that week.