What bursting palette of activities are at my disposal today? Well, a trip to the massomarket, without doubt; there is no catfood left and I've been scraping the tin convincingly for 24 hours and pretending that the old dried up lumps in the bowl are new, but the little fur fellas won't fall for that any longer; I also have to buy a million tins of plum tomatoes, the foundation of the cheapo Western diet. They hold our cupboards up.
I could go to the East End- there, a party is happening in a knitting shop to celebrate a competition that has involved knitting walking-stick covers. It's very tempting, because the woman who organises it organises things like taking over carriages on the Circle Line and knitting all day. Problem is that I don't know where the heck my wool is, nor the knitting needles that Eddie found in a drawer when he worked in the Auction Rooms in Brighton- all different colours of Bakelite, beautiful, but where?
There are all sorts of funky parties at the moment: a Ukelele one next week, Songbird with the Band of Holy Joy, animation at the Royal College of Art. Should I attend them, or just imagine them?