Punts for all cattle.

Oh, has it rained here today, and oh, is my throat making overtures toward being unwell. And so, after a jaunt to town for a package of chili and cardamom hot chocolate (every bit as good as it sounds), I took to my bed, read myself to sleep, and napped for a good two hours. I'm planning another early bedtime. I'm planning a course of non-capitulation. Je refuse.

These cows are yesterday's. Today was too messy to take the camera out.

In moments, the Booker Prize will be announced. Ironically, the one year I'm actually in the country, I've made it through none of the novels. I attribute this lack of interest to my joyous upsurge of creative investment in the real project at hand.

Today: 1018 words (698 new, the others imported from the old version of what I'm writing).