Day 478: Cat Pepper

A lie-in full of dreams. I one of them, I was a prostitute. In another, I was in love. I love dreams, whatever they are, even when they leave me with spooked-horse eyes, with a beating heart and afraid of the dark. These did neither. 

I continued the mask-building this morning, with unsieved flour, hot water and PVA, dishcloths and faith. I've never made them like that before. I've left them to dry. We'll see what becomes of them. I like the faces they're on. I'm remembering things about how to make them. It's been a while. I'm aching to do another full mask. I like them. I like doing the lips. 

Fabulous meeting with Rob on the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral and Kate at Baker Street. St. Pau'ls will lead to Iceland. Baker Street led to Regent's Park, but not before I stumbled across a big, empty oil drum just as I was telling Kate we needed to go skip-scavenging to find something for Ruth to make into a musical instrument. I'm not sure how many litres it held. A lot. Like, 30 or something. Empty, but cumbersome, it came around Regent's Park with us. 

When we arrived, the matinee of The Sound of Music live show was just finishing. We listened until a particularly pleasing bit of trumpet-
trumpetting, then moved on. We did good talking, then walked to Euston, where I took the tube and the bus, drum in hand, to Muswell Hill. Lovely dinner and chat and laughter with Ruth. Our trip to the supermarket to buy wine for her exhibition was made sweeter by a lady on the checkout with a beautiful face and a willingness to have a laugh. 

I googled 'cat pepper', so this is entirely justified.

The slightly-too-bitey dog (Staff? Pitbull?) with its slightly too forward owner were nevertheless entertaining outside. I went back for pepper, to stop cats pooing on Ruth's vegetables. We peppered some soil. It was disproportionately satisfying. 

Now I have extra PVA, a cast of my own face, a dust sheet and a purpose. Tomorrow, I welcome you.