The day began with an excellent sandwich. What a surge of life it is, to bite into a simple meal and find yourself going from stale, sleepy, senseless state into a liquid, overwhelming, layered action. And I continue to be in awe of the alchemy of it: just bread, just some proschutto, some rocket, some mozzarella chese, very thin, and some cream spread. Mildly heated up, and crusty. All of that combined in one perfect bite, turns mouth in the lead sensual trap for pleasure.

Things seem to be looking good for the book buy-off.

I'm mildly disturbed by the fate of Anne Boleyn. It's so freaky, fiction that's not really fiction, to see a room where a girl slept in, where she was dressed and tended to by hairdresers, the Bible she read and wrote into, knowing at some point that strange, troubled creature was simply beheaded and tossed into a basket and put into an unmarked communal grave, utterly abandoned by everyone. A prominent historic figure at one moment and a nameless bloated heap of meat and stenched gauze the next...  I'm thinking of adopting her... I'm sure Spotter wouldn't mind a friend.