So I woke up this morning, slightly chilled, feeling like an endless procession of mice had crawled into my mouth and died over the course of the night, and Peretz arrived, wildly assumed a variety of yoga postures, made keening noises and generally set a standard of affectionate friendliness against which I, frankly, just don't measure up. Sorry everybody.

Later, on our morning promenade, I was thinking about writing a novel about Churchy LaFemme, but no doubt the estate of Walt Kelly would intervene, again.

Been thinking quite a lot about turtles generally, the baby turtle rescued from setting cement, the whole tortoise and baby hippo thing, of course- then there was this girl I used to know, who did this thing with her tongue. She'd say "Order Squamata, lizard" and dart her tongue in and out quickly between pressed lips, then "Order Chelonia, turtle" and do the same thing, only much slower.