The county newspaper is unusually lively this week. Sample headline: "Claims defendant licked hands stating 'I love the taste of another man's blood'". Said defendant had kicked his friend's teeth in after the victim confronted him over taking his wallet in the pub. Typical drunken savage assholery. According to the husband, the victim himself had kicked in another man's teeth only a few months prior to this incident.

I haven't a clue of where I've been heartwise since this week began, as we're at the end of our financial year and accounts must be sorted by the first of May. The cherry trees around town are in full bloom, and bluebells appeared in the woods, where I walk at the end of the day, exhausted, thoughts knocking furry and untamed in my head like bees bumping against windows, thump, thump.

Meanwhile friends post of works collected by art galleries and art grants awarded and forthcoming books or books that have been published to praise from high places. My friend sent me the cover for her book that is coming out in August. She is a marvelous writer, already acclaimed as a leading literary light of our generation, and I'm so delighted for her, but I also think, wryly, of the ideas and sketches for paintings, and lines for poems scribbled in tiny notebooks, and no time ever to get anything substantial done. Oh well.

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