First smoke in 48 hours... Welsh lessons 'til lunchtime, Christmas shopping thereafter. Walking home from town, the early dusk gathering in a blue-grey mist with shadows, the gloom of late autumn relieved by the yellows of lamplit windows, firesides and tenacious leaves... and the crunch of their fallen fellows underfoot; the scent of woodsmoke in the crisp air... and it's beginning to feel a lot like Som Besths. Anyway, this evening I have been entertained by my beat-up little Rhodesian Meer I ought to find a name for, with the goddess Peterson's Irish Flake, her kisses deep and golden-warm, lingering long upon the thirsting tongue...don't mind my burblings, I'm probably nicotine-stoned, is all...