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Why I like having my own place #551:
It's half past eight at night, the sun is shining, it's stopped raining and the wind's died down, and I'm sitting on my roof garden with a big bowl of red fruit and yoghurt, listening to the birds, watching the train's go by, and there's nobody here but me.
Also, I'm wearing a far-too-large brown cardigan and writing fic, and I feel sort of like the heroine in a remodelled-for-the-twenty-first-century novel. Which is probably not a sentence I'll ever have cause to type again!
It's half past eight at night, the sun is shining, it's stopped raining and the wind's died down, and I'm sitting on my roof garden with a big bowl of red fruit and yoghurt, listening to the birds, watching the train's go by, and there's nobody here but me.
Also, I'm wearing a far-too-large brown cardigan and writing fic, and I feel sort of like the heroine in a remodelled-for-the-twenty-first-century novel. Which is probably not a sentence I'll ever have cause to type again!