and so it is Tweet

It is well past 1 a.m. in London, and the day has not been short of thrills. As I write a quiet, heavy fog cloaks the nearby buildings to the point of deleting them from one's eye, the breeze has stopped and it is relatively, if briefly dry. Cold enough to freeze my fingers, but let me not dwell on it too much. There has been a harvest of lemongrass earlier, as well as one of tarragon. Barren tomato plants have been put to sleep, and many a document and issue sorted. A mouse was chased with tongs to no success, and a long expected visite to the resident hairdresser ensued, with equally debatable success on the receiving party. Then bath was had in a rush, and rushed dinner in a diner. Family from faraway lands was seen and soothed, and the final episode of a certain period drama was watched. There are early signs of Christmas about the garden, and a question hangs as to where the bamboo pot will rest for the winter and beyond. Plans, extravagant and peaceful were discussed for New Year's Eve, but one must stay focused on tomorrow, and not let the bed bugs bite. The mouse just came back to feast on one's gladioli. It is a surreal life about, but thoroughly enjoyable.