Last week, while I was writing inside the small loggia, I saw an old man hobble by on a walking stick past the main gate, on the street. My mind focused on two things: the walking stick (I have a collection of walking sticks that I consider magical or at the very least decorative rather than physiotherapeutic) and the old man. I thought to myself that, should I grow to be that old, I would prefer to stay home and write and paint than move round the city on my walking sticks (except that that old man was most probably being compelled to continue making a living). And that, if I became even too old and too weak to write and paint, I would simply stay in my room and keep rereading my Judge Dee and Brother Cadfael books and my TinTin comic books.

Picking up Judge Dee at Work now. I seem to be doing that already!