as i sit here in the kitchen eating cherries and drinking tea (and thinking fondly of desmond who used to knot cherry stalks with his tongue) i realise i am happy here at garden street, happier than i have been for several weeks. sven, whom i haven't talked to for nearly a year, is online today, and i'm awfully pleased to hear a little about his life, as he has given up blogging. and von is going with me so that i can exchange a rug i ordered yesterday but now want to change for a different size (the dimensions i was given for my room were inaccurate.) he is going to be my brother and stand around giving manly advice and argue with shopkeepers while i meekly waffle and apologise and say please can i change the rug. i am the most troublesome woman, aren't i?

~

conversations with julian:

me: [about doing a favour] oh, you mean it's not because i am a dear, beloved, trusted friend?
julian: of course you are my dear but that wasn't why. and anyway is that the sort of thing you actually ask someone?
me: if you're a shameless, dear, beloved, trusted friend, yes.
julian: this is true.

~

conversations with von

me: [on pumping von for information] von, did you tell me because am i your dear, treasured, trusted friend? or because i wouldn't stop bugging you and lucked out?
von: what do you think?
me: oh. how sad. and julian says it's not because i'm his dear, treasured, trusted friend either.
von: why? if you're the receipient of privileged information.
me: but you only told me cos i lucked out!
von: ah, you said it not i.


fine, fine. she dabs at her eyes, and fishing obviously.