I've lost touch with him. But his pen's still working.

The weather seems to have turned. It's the second warm day in a row. I took a walk yesterday afternoon, feeling hungover, useless, wrapped up in some pretty boring thoughts.

For example,

'The z-grade cakes that they sell in the cafe next door come from the supermarket across the street. On Sunday, the supermarket is closed, but the cafe is open, so they must buy extra cakes on Saturdays. Presumably then, the cakes on Sunday taste drier, even more horrible'.

Anyway, I was briefly snapped out of this state by a lady and her clueless-looking dog, out for a Sunday afternoon walk. The dog was wearing what can only be described as red overalls. It was extraordinary. He looked like he should be in my kitchen repairing the washing machine.
If he were, I don't doubt that he would stand there, drinking a cup of dog food, not really knowing why it was broken. Then, after a couple of hours he'd leave, claiming he didn't have the right part. I'd be left, not knowing whether to stay in or go out.

Of course, I'd never see him again, and Hotpoint would send a different dog round three days later. And, I'd have to spend another day making cups of dog food, tiptoeing around my own house.

After I saw him, I wandered up to Hero Square and the ice rink just beyond. It was warm enough to stand on the bridge for a while and watch the skaters. It's pretty. A bit romantic, a bit Christmassy.