in which Ms B is three thousand miles away

And that's just the jet lag. It's Thursday, isn't it?

It's odd: I'm writing this on my laptop, in a bed I've been in before - but not here. I'm at Sis' apartment. The last time I was here, in September, I was on a different bed, and the last time I was in this bed it was in the guest room at my father, le Duc de Baroque's place. It's a great bed, antique cream-painted cast-iron with brass knobs at the corners. (Puts my own new Ikea effort rather in perspective, no matter how in love I may be with my new mattress!)

Dotted around the walls are old pictures, including a magnificent old photograph of some ancestor or other, in an oval walnut frame with convex glass, and an Adirondack-framed sampler that reads "God Bless Our School." The Colonial rocker with the gold wheatsheaf painted on the back is in the nook by the window. The bookcase from le Duc's den is in the little alcove here, full of Sis' books. It all looks very cosy and lovely. And it feels as weird as hell.

And I can't go & make some coffee without waking up the dogs. (But who cares about them!)

Incidentally, my greeting from the little mopheads last night (or "at 4.30 this morning" depending which time zone you inhabit) surpassed all expectation. Tai in particular was jumping up so furiously (all the way to my thighs!) that I thought he was going to go over backwards - even though I don't have John Ash's Selected Poems with me this trip. (He did seem very interested in my cherry Strepsils.) And they very gratifyingly did that "bark-till-you-scream" thing I find so amusing.