'I have the answer to the perfect poem'. He tells me. I have hemingwayed one of my best ones until there is nothing there and all that is left for the performer is a series of body movements... It is sublime.
No Tristan, I replied... It is mime.

Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
I for my part am hoarding apple pips having read that they are (in large doses) deadly. How I am going to get her to consume 8 Kilos of the things is something i have yet to work out.
I must escape... I thought of going to France but the Eurostar trains have all broken down, B A is on strike, the airports are all closed due to asuggestion of snow and traffic is at a standstill on the roads.
I must find refuge!
I feel that the worst is over and I shall soon be in full command of my faculties