At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, July 01, 2018


When I came home the second time today, my apartment mate was in her room snorking happily, with a comic book about sharks in her lap. And yes, I've only just noticed that she has a new stuffed reading chair in there. Like her mattresses, she has gone through several over the years, because previous ones were not comfortable enough. Luxurious beast!

[Snorking: something twixt a gleeful giggle and a chortle, expressed largely with the nose.]

Earlier I returned from work, where I had cleaned pipes, including a lovely Stanwell (someone I didn't know), and a GBD owned by a friend -- stem only, they oxidize so -- and smoked two bowls of Sam Gawith's Cabbie's Mixture. It had been a lovely day. Neil dropped by after the motorcar club breakfast with his newest acquisition (a Dunhill Billiard), Paul asked me to clean the stem on a bent pipe of unknown provenance (English, it looks like it might be an offbrand from one of the Cadogan companies).

[Cabbie's mixture is a lovely Virginia and Perique compound, small coins, very plummy.]

The lounge, mercifully, was intent on watching Hravtska kick the snot out of the Vikings. So the soccer match kept them from their usual bitchy cat fight.
I pay almost no attention to the World Cup, but it is a marvelous pacifier for cigar-huffing middle-aged delinquents.

I had something to attend to downtown, so the last smoke of the day was down in Chinatown as darkness fell. There are no bakeries open that late, few people about, and even the chachantengs that stay open for dinner are winding down. Plus, this being summer in SF, it gets startlingly cold of an evening, and sometimes there's a very mighty wind.

Broken flake in a black blast bulldog.

Shan't make it down that way again till Wednesday. The boss is out of town, and I'm opening and closing Monday and Tuesday.

On Tuesday, Parrish will probably (I hope) bring in some more fudge. He's an excellent confectioner. That by itself makes the extra day this week worthwhile. My apartment mate is NOT the only luxurious beast.

Apropos of something incomprehensible, she seems to have informed me that Canadians are foot-fetishists, or should be, because Canada is huge.
I think that, in a nutshell, was more or less her drift.
Should have paid better attention.
Canada = Really big.

There's a monkey in my box of chocolates.
How did this happen?

A spot of whiskey, then off to bed.


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