I’ve started a Creative Writing course.  There, I’ve admitted it.  Well the truth is I started it back in October but this is a public confession.  You’re the first person I’ve told.  I expected the course to be taught by a dotty bag lady, perhaps, or an effete elderly man in a brocade smoking jacket.  Not a bit of it.  We’ve got a new teacher this term and he’s a lout in a leather coat who keeps roaring at us.  I asked him what he thought of prose-poems.  ‘I think nothing of prose-poems,’ he roared at me.
Right.  That’s that then.
Last night in class I had to change seats.  M came in and made to sit next to me, but she has a demon hanging on her, one of a kind I hadn’t seen before.  I’ve got enough problems of my own in that regard so I mumbled some excuse, gathered up my stuff and went to sit next to R.  I think M was offended.  I’ll have to straighten that out.  I’m not going to say anything but she’s not going to get a piece of writing finished while she’s got that thing hanging round her neck.
Just one glass of the rubicund relief and rescue before work today.  Errazuriz Estate 2006 Merlot: not bad, suggestion of coffee flavour too strong for my taste.