Edward adult education class. Cry charity shop. Driving lesson at 10.00.
8.36 am. Rain. Charley has just waved to me through the window from across the road., he is sitting in his front room.
Hot coffee from my vacuum flask with one Belvita biscuit. I had to consume cold cure tablets to ward off a soar throat yesterday afternoon.
Only nineteen years to go then I shall be the same age as my mother when she died in this house.
This week has gone so quickly, I did not do much work yesterday only scanned new stars with cavorting angels, at least I have made a start on my angel work.
I must prepare my studio by putting away the sofa bed as it is blocking my space. I have been sleeping on it as the room is quieter over looking our garden. The atmosphere is also much lighter as grandpa Wason died in the room in which Edward and I usually sleep . My art studio was my mothers bed room for most of her life.
My cold is yet to develop, I can't feel my soar throat a present but my nose is wet and my left ear buzzing. Edward my husband of fourteen years's body lying next to me feels like a warm limpet wrapped around me as I record this my journal.
The cold mornings have begun, I will be dressing in my ski suit each day soon.
Met Doreen Taylor at the bus stop, my late mothers local confidant living at number ten opposite our house with a white front gate.
Drawing by Edward.
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