The cats were pleased to see me and my basket.
Colin the put-upon painter laid down his brush and tried to get the 'new' dryer to work.
I made pork chops Italienne for Walt.
Just another morning at Henry's.
He is still undergoing tests and no-one is being told anything least of all me. I spoke with him on the phone and he made no sense at all, I think he must be on some super painkillers or something of that ilk because his speech was slurred and rambling.
No-one except me, John and his children have visited him, a man can be in no sorrier state than to be devoid of true friendship.
Pottering around his house in silence save for the occasional bump and thump from Colin upstairs feels very unreal.
No blaring radio or filthy banter and suddenly the cold creaking castle lies still and colourless without its main character.
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