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After many years of faithful service, several moves, and some abuse by arsehole flatmates, my much beloved pepper grinder passed on today. No, passed on seems a bit weak. The poor thing shat itself and died. I tried CPR, I tried holding it together and seeing if superglue would fix it [sadly, no], and I tried to grind one last little half teaspoon of pepper from it but, alas, I was flogging a dead grinder. Curiously, as the thing fell apart in my paws I’d been thinking of what a great little friend it had been and the history of our relationship.

I spent quite a lot of today wandering down memory lane. I had a bit of this and a bit of that to do in King Street and found myself in the vicinity of my old flat, my shoebox. It was coffee that brought me into such proximity, the café on the corner always did do coffee well, and from there I walked a little down the once familiar street and gazed at the old place. It smells the same, even without the Birdman. It looks the same but so different to how I dream it.

I woke up annoyed today after dreaming about M. In part, I suppose, that’s why I chose to visit my old flat. He helped me move in. While I lived there we had some lovely arguments. I didn’t dream about arguing with him though, for once we were friends, well, friendly. On best behaviour, how d’you do, what a pleasure… It wasn’t though. I dreamed that he’d married the ugly dwarf and that they’d had a baby – the family was all in attendance. As was awkwardness. I suppose it always was. He’d be married now, I’m sure of it, even the country must yield some joys in that department. He was always headed that way, and young, so young. I guess it doesn’t do to dwell.