Sunday
It’s bright and sunny this morning though I have lost track of which day it is and I only know about the weather because J had the radio on. Time becomes confused when beneath the bed. Ned the nipper hasn’t found me. J, though, did, and gave me a bit of a rark up. She is insisting that I come out from under the bed. She says I can’t be travel writer and stay hidden away. I said fiddlesticks to you, and remained huddled and hidden. There are plenty of travel writers who sit in solitude making it all up. I am going to be one of those. I will emerge, with a travel book written when the dog becomes toothless.
Off Highway One 