you go on to bed, dear ... i haven't quite finished my cosmogeny homework

http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn19598-kitchen-sink-experiment-simulates-exotic-white-holes.html

the loved one has gone shopping and has left this object unguarded ... what should i do ?

apropos de nuffinque ( part 1001a )

i'm hoping to finish the book before the fruit

oh no ! she's far too ladylike to bite their ankles ...

three beautiful things ... well, one and a half, actually

a frosty dawn of unusual clarity … the sky a kind of abstract expressionist playground for incandescent candy floss brush strokes and dabs, smears and wisps, and even a few curlicues … all across a flawless velvety infinity of hyper-intense ultramarine, toning down into turquoise towards the horizon … a few minutes later, driving quickly on a smooth winding road switchbacking through a deep wood where you still need headlights even whilst the first rays of the newly risen sun are lancing horizontally through the high canopies of beech and oak … then emerging to find all that was pink in the sky has turned to gold

Wandsworth bloody council have cut down the tree next to the bus stop on lavender hill … but have left the stump level and smooth and just wide enough and high enough for a certain posterior to sit whilst it's owner soaks up some afternoon sun after emerging from their excellent public library and settling down with Angus Trumble’s “A Brief History Of The Smile” … laughter and sunshine are excellent therapists

a Jehovah’s Witness stops to talk to me outside the post office whilst I am checking a hand-written letter for punctuation and coherence before posting it to a dear friend with whom i have corresponded some twenty five years … he talks briefly about communicating with God ( who has never communicated directly with me so far ) but I don’t let on that I was only just some moments ago writing about the strong possibility that when I get the job of giving Heaven a make-over then I’d probably want to replace the old straight and narrow turnstile with some drive-thru pearly gates

cor blimey ! i was just trawling my brother's website and found this forgotten picture of my mum ! thanks, dave !

a ten minutes walk on the southern edge of ashdown forest ... part of this driver's statutory rest period

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gorse

caught red handed

doctor, doctor ... tell me honestly ( sigh, gulp, shudder ) ... is it ... writer's block ?

damozels in dystresse ... the same old stuff in room 50a at the V and A

a small counter epiphany in the norfolk room

waiting somewhat vacantly for a recital by the fabulous guitarist Laura Snowden, i was admiring the elaborate gilded carvings and thinking how marvellous it was when the craftsmen of the good old days managed to position the mirrors exactly halfway between the objects and their reflections

a short walk on the edge of a sussex field

magpies

one thing leads to another, as all philosophers know ...

a cast-iron phoenix in crowhurst churchyard

Three beautiful things … 10th October 2010

A long train ride to visit a friend I’ve neglected in the cancer ward in a south coast hospital.  And a long wait until visiting time.  The patient is sleeping, or is she already gone ?  No, the wind is whistling through the valve in her throat and they’ve removed the stomach tube and they've attached the help-yourself-morphine drip.  In mournful silence, I turn to search for a chair and then the old familiar smiling voice whispers from the pillow, “Hello, stranger!”  “Stranger than fiction!”, I reply before we embark on a three hour conversation.

Darkness advances as the train pulls out on the return journey and we pass the beach at low tide.  Three men with spades, for all the world like grave diggers, are silhouetted against the twilight waters.

Falling asleep in the loved one’s embrace, and waking there some time later, refreshed and healed.

the old press at the traditional cheese dairy in stonegate before they finally moved it to the barn

chez micawber ce matin ... a little ray of sunshine creeps in between downpours

from our own correspondent