I’ve been drinking a lot of tea lately. I’m still all about the coffee; we got a cafetière at the weekend, so we could try my Dad’s lovely Christmas present from here. I have to say though; I’ve revised my somewhat scathing opinions of tea since Sarge arrived on the scene. There are some quite exciting things happening for me, and tea is the only thing that stops my brain from buzzing. The fact I now ask Sarge to make…
This is what it sounds like to me: 1. The laughter of people I love, especially when I make it happen. 2. Popcorn popping. 3. The noises the coffee machine makes while doing its thing. I happen to think it sounds exactly like a zombie dying. Not that I’d know exactly what that sounds like. 4. My new favourite song. Or old favourite songs. But my new favourite song is pretty cool. It’s this one. 5. Instances of friendly sarcasm,…
And so, I switch off the computer and my eyes fall on my favourite chair. Currently piled with duvets and a guitar, it is wedged between a loveseat and a laundry rack. A penguin is perched on the loveseat, propped up by pillows and the last publically visible box in the house. This is half of the office. The half I can conveniently turn my back on while typing. But I miss the chair. It started out as my Grandfather’s…
