I spent the afternoon in the pub with Pluvialis, Madame O, Ghost of Early Modern Christmas and Fervent Engineer, where we all laughed like loons and ate like we'd forgotten what good pub food was like, which I had.
Pluvialis drove me home as darkness closed in and I went upstairs and played with makeup. Yes! Something of the eight-year-old with a box of every-coloured crayons overtook me like a trickster demon and I watched terrible pirate television while I pouted and fluttered and painted and smudged with glitter and shadow and illuminators, pink things and pearly things, stuff in little round tubs and flip-top boxes, mirrors and brushes and black sparkly gel, plums and electric blue and glosses called things like Moxie and Private Isle.
My god, more fun was never had by giggly woman all by herself with a mirror on her desk while the teatime of the soul wore on long and darkly.