A film of starch detaches itself from the side of the non-stick pan, which sits in the sink after porridge has been cooked in it. The pan is half full of water and the delicate, tissue-paper thin moulding will soon disintegrate, but somehow you feel that it deserves better.
The pretty marmalade cat finds a temporary house for itself under the frame of nylon fleece, which I have erected over the purple sprouting brocolli against maurading pigeons. The cat pokes its head through a hole in the fleece. The creature, like other pretty cats I have known, seems to have cultivated an infuriating cuteness, which demands foregiveness for any crime it may commit or have committed.
In front of a house in Berkely Road is a clump of thin bamboos. One of the stripey stalks, bent over as a result of yesterday's snow, waves to and fro just above the ground. It looks like the very long, thin tail of a dragon.