My new lodgings are much the nicest place I have lived for many years. However we do suffer somewhat from the noise of passing buses. There is some sort of acoustical concatenation at work here that serves to magnify the sound to a roar equivalent to a taxiing jumbo. Last night my companion and I watched A young John Lennon’s bus riding antics with amazement whilst enjoying a fully immersive surround sound experience provided by the number 47. Many of the films we have watched recently have been punctuated by compananion’s question “what did he say” leasing me to think that I must acquire a timetable as soon as possible. Thus armed I will be able to perfectly time the beginning of our viewing and factor in tea breaks at appropriate intervals. I am fiercely determined that this aphotic force will not impinge on our new lives.
Yesterday the flies returned. They seem to love the bedroom and whenever the window has been left open I invariably return to find as many as ten gambolling around the stars. It has been seasonably warm at last, my need for fresh air has outweighed my dislike for these meanest of creatures. This said they are small, reasonably inoffensive and soon slain.
My companion and I dined at The Museum Street Café a delightful little eaterie serving fine vegetarian fayre to the Guardian reading Buddhists of Ipswich. We have never been disappointed by the welcome or the lavish dishes served up by it proprietors Mark and Nell. We were especially looking forward to a bloodless meal as my companion has, of late, experienced a number of rather hematic dreams. The latest involved a colony of large blood sucking toads which sank their fangs into her décolletage. Perversely we opted for the richly Catholic mushroom and red wine cobbler and chatted to Mark about the reopening of the local cinema. He seemed in very good humour although he had apparently cut himself shaving and was sporting a small plaster on his neck.
