in good spirits, so much so that i'm even reminiscing fondly/ remembering early stokie tenure, regular trips across clissold to tha spot, relative irresponsibility...

have begun to feel buried of late, due i think to a surfeit of very cheap white cider/ thus yester stuck to champagne, brandy and expensive wine and woke this morning feeling yards better/ mixing cheap cider, for which i have an inexplicable fetish, with wine, no matter how expensive, produces the most vile strain of hangover/ moreover long term use makes the mind feel distinctly unhinged, and also had an unpleasant effect on one's vision, mainly disturbing one's depth perception/ fortunately when withdraw one's faculties are restored fairly speedily/ reading farewell, my lovely by chandler on the back of the big sleep/ both quite remarkable, as was dos's the double/ have only 30 pages of the current chandler left, and shall follow with the long goodbye, the third and final novel in the collection his i'm reading/ this i shall follow with 20,000 leagues, as i intend to do another spree on the classics (not that it does my writing much good)/ anyway, onwards and downwards...