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Who’s going to do it?
This can happen: you find yourself up on a stool tonging moss from crevices in the aluminium windows, and I’m talking inside the house. It’s in the order of nose-picking: wrong and thrilling at the same time. Fired by that novel experience, I got out the sewing machine to hem the new bed cover. The…
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Domestic warmth
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Decadence
Northeasterly rain: the wet, persistent, three-day kind. I’ve strung the washing up under the house, wiped the windows off for the second time, split some firewood, and huddled up to the wood burner; even the fire slouches along in this weather. I wouldn’t mind something to snack on — something reminiscent of warmer days —…