Easy to Slip

It's so easy to slip, that's good Little Feat song from Sailin' Shoes, and I felt it today alright, three months on from hospitalization to the day and now bouncing down the Shoreditch High St, lecture course on the whole history of architecture over, browsing paint for our kitchen works and contemplating not so much jazz, but the undoubtedly interesting later modern abstract screen prints that Rocket Gallery have on sale and that Risom chair I promised to buy, sitting presently in their bargain basement. In the old days, my enthusiasm would have dragged me first in to the White Horse, for calmness and thought before venturing in to the land of modern classics, but no, I went straight in and bought the bloody chair and a print by some lovely old modern who finished his days staring out of a window in Jutland. Bugger. I hadn't even had a drink. So then to the White horse and Lily's all for saying I'm too thin and I'm feeling pretty bloody good and.....this is how you slip. But, slippin's OK I think, if you rescue yourself, so I did and bought bread and fish from the Conran shop in punishment and away home for tea and the last of Julie's fabulous homemade biscuits. Phew.