Mold. Mould.

In the morning I got woken up at 7:30 by a very good olf friend, who left the film industry for good just four days ago to get in to full time highschool teaching.

I am an early riser. But after all week getting up at 6:00, well… snoozing till eight would have been nice.

So I got some grumpy morning time to look at my never ending post from yesterday and think how good it is that there are editors on this planet, who usually cut things down before the makers hit publishing. I never really regret things I write very much. But it is simply loooooooong, no??

I discovered a wet bit of floor possibly from a leak in the bathroom my father and I tried to fix yesterday. Not so good.

Maybe The white Ribbon was simply not as good a movie as I expected and therefore the long lament last night.

Anyway.

As the kettle gets brotteling… (no, don’t look it up – it is not an English word…but should it not have been invented for the sound a kettle throws in crisp sunny morning air?)

…my mood gets britteling and I am almost as lalala as usually as soon as I open my eyes.


(image by Kinnéidigh Garrett)

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