small things

Meandering home in the sunshine, picking up thrifty purchases on the way - including four books from the Friends of Russell Square stall.
Being read to from Fowler's Modern Usage.
Another stage finally met in the slow cruel punishment that is a restructure. My options look okay.
Maybe weeping a little bit at Katie and Peter: Stateside. What is wrong with me?
Jeff Buckley in the dark.

A pavement find. I think it's a bathroom shelving thing, but it's now holding stacks of books (colour coded!) by my door.
Braided hair.
Music playing in the background all day long.
A phone call to solve a problem (hopefully).
A cup of coffee and a parting kiss while still cocooned in bed.

Coffee and a croissant in a very lovely cafe, before my day began properly.
Tea in a pint measure (and being questioned about it with a slight hesitancy... as if the answer could be even odder than the reality.)
Listening to AB laugh at (the utterly mysterious to me) Alan Partridge.
Curious wardrobe combinations - over=knee socks, night dresses, cardigans, stripes, pinned-buns in my hair. Clearly shouldn't be allowed to spend too much time on my own.
Five piles of papers at the foot of my bed.

This is probably a shameful admission, but I appreciate the Argos shopping experience. I google something I need, price it up, reserve it online, walk 4 minutes down the road and - with no human contact until collecting the aforementioned items of need - have my purchases in my hand within 10 minutes of ordering online. It's the perfect meld of real-life and online shopping. Relatedly, I'm now the proud owner of a dictaphone. Whoo, and indeed, hoo.
Asparagus soup.
Kittens in the flat below. Oh so cute (but oh so smelly - I'd been wondering why the hall smelt of poo recently).
The bus journey from Holloway to Hackney. There are many things I love about this, from the snatched glimpses of views way across North London, to the mix of people seen in different parts of London.
A pavlovian response to tv, a sofa and a bottle of red on a saturday night.

Proving, once again, that nachos are indeed a meal.
An excel triumph (with major props to JT) - the vlookup formula may be my new best friend. (I don't get out much, clearly.)
Discovering chai teabags in my cupboard, promptly consumed by the pint.
Frozen grapes.
Listening to the soundtrack of my room - the bubble of the fish, the whoosh of London traffic, the hum of my computer. It's quite soothing, really.

Pulling on a soft blue fruit of the loom hoody that must be (do the maths now...) twenty years old. Wow. I love it muchly, despite that fact that I resemble nothing so much as a butch gnome when it's donned. It's done me well, in the eleven or so years it's been in my possession. Thanks Dave.
Parmesan grissini.
Actually using the British Library resources. Guess where you'll find me on Saturday?
A purple dress with my (currently ubiquitous) white plimsolls.
Spending far too much time with ABChao's photos.

The squeak of grilled halloumi between my teeth.
Weeping with laughter within seconds of putting down my bag and taking off my jacket. The champagne and stories about Dave the cat helped.
Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail as characters in Watership Down. So close, yet so awfully far. Brilliant.
Trying to explain the wonder of the Big Red. My audience remains unconvinced.
Dredging the keys for Arundel from of the bottom of my bag, and so being able to let myself in.

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