Writer’s block. Pomegranate juice and cardamom tea on a Sunday afternoon. Damp weather at first, but not for long, as the sun shines through the window by midday. Liberated by the fact that I’m using a Sunday for what it’s good for: being lazy. It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to just sit down, read a good book, listen to good music and reflect. All work and no play squashes creativity. I’ve been having trouble writing here lately. So much to say, but having a hard time writing it all down, coherently. Right now, I’m thinking about this year, the year of the ox. I’m thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. I’m thinking that I miss Hugo the Maltese in London…