An off-centre sofa, upsettingly mustard walls. Elder child magically rectangling right to my right, her casually crossed leg obscuring an obscure early Madonna 12" single. Fucking Coach Trip on the telly and another pair of voices drifting down from the bath.
It was a pretty special summer, involving a mountain stage of the Tour on a beautifully handmade but deeply unsuitable bike and then one of the happiest fortnights of my life. But now it's back to school and double-jobbing inspired almost solo parenting.
I've been listening to Nietzsche to get me through, accepting, embracing my Will to Nap.
Just thought I'd drop by...