Monday 14 November 2011
It’s been getting very chilly in the writing hut, so that I’m all wrapped up like Bob Cratchit and seriously considering cutting the fingers out of a pair of gloves. So we tried the little plastic garden table in the shed – and it just fit as a tight squeeze between the hearthstone and the washing machine. 
Once in a while we treat ourselves to a plate of George’s Albanian Builder’s Stew, which doesn’t sound like much but is rather good on a chilly evening:
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