Missing her. Writing and re-writing most of the day. Bought ingredients to make a mushroom soup. Made far too much of it. No one to drink it. Eat it, it's soup. Got a bus back from the Big Tesco (I wanted dried porcini - not a local delicacy) and the bus-driver couldn't have been nicer, even stopping at a non bus-stop so I wouldn't have to walk too far up Pims Avenue. No one to tell.
Watched Doctor Who again. Victorian dolls and children's play-ground singing. It was hokey old nonsense. She would have loved it. Long evening. Listened to Radio 4 Extra, Radio 7 as was. It was always on in London. The soup was good. The cat came in again.
Had a cry. Which is not a kind of fish-based bourbon.(Haddock Rye - that's the sort of shit pun she would have enjoyed - in passing, not written down. She had clear rules on that sort of thing)
Bought a new jacket. She would have liked it on me. I miss her.