That bread, just out of the oven, looks so good, says Heidi, that you ought to photograph it. So I do.
The other day I realize that a hurried comment that I had made on the blog of my friend Barrett Bonden, had turned out to be gobbledygook. As there seems to be no other means of correcting it, self respect persuades me to ask him to delete it. I am still kicking myself for my clumsiness, when I receive a similar request from him, after what he considers to have been an inadvertent solecism - undetected by me - this time, in a comment from him on this blog. It can be reassuring to know that others have feet of clay even when you don't notice them.
Passing one of the tall house in Berkeley Road, I often hear someone at a set of drums. This afternoon, drums and cymbals are going at full whack. I look up at a lit, attic window. The back of a boy's head, nods in time with the beat, and on either side of his head, drumsticks wave.