Everything I touched told me it would be better shared with you...
I can tell that it's getting wintry in Norwich. My hands are getting dry and chapped from being out in the cold. I have been sleeping next to a hot water bottle.
(Grace took this photo... Norwich by lamplight, winter here isn't bad.)
Me and my housemates went to a 'Communist' themed party a few weekends ago. We danced to the sounds of a Russian band and records from a bygone era. We dressed as Russians, the men at the party were looking particulary dashing in military atire. Through the wine-tinted glasses I began to understand the merits of Communism. Everyone was happy to drink a lot of vodka, wear fur, dance ridiculously to romantic songs and look irrationally hot. The atmosphere bloomed with moral, as everyone drank up and danced as if it were their last night. Afterall, who knows what another day in Communist Russia will bring.
When me and Grace stumbbled home we found this chap sleeping on the sofa....
Grace's brother, Alex, had come to Norwich especially for the occasion. He had returned home before us and was resting under a duvet next to the fire (aka: gas heater,) when we arrived back at 3.30am. Grace whipped up a rather delightful pasta dish in the kitchin whilst I fumbled about with spare duvets in the cupboard under the stairs in order to improve Alex's sleeping situation.... as he mumbled questions such as.. 'What, are you going to make me lie on the ironing board?'
We went to bed, full and slightly fearful that we had been born in the wrong time period and within the wrong political structure.