touched...I woke very confused from dreams about visiting the huge country estate belonging to a poet (whose name was not, quite, Ben Stiller, nor was it Bill Murray, but it was something close to both - Ben Miller, perhaps) with several of my friends, and finding the poet there, leapfrogging the marble bannisters and telling anyone he could find that he was the lover of the original owner of the estate, who'd died several hundred years previously. Apparently ghost sex is good. Who knew?
...my father is here, and although he had the Woolf Family Brain Cell last night, he appears to have lost it this morning and is shouting at me because my migraine is apparently my fault.
...I will be heading out to meet
spikeylady for lunch. This is Good, and reminds me that yesterday I saw the lovely zoo_music_girl for lunch as well, which was great - thank you. xxx...people surprise me.
E.
x
