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Right now I am mourning the departure of The Loved One for a couple of days, though with far less grief this time, since he showed me how the espresso machine works this morning. I've decided that, after making tomorrow morning's cups for myself, I shall Zany Carter myself into such a mind-altering incoherently enervated ecstasy of illumination that Kundalini will complain about all the light and the noise, grab his chakras and burst through the top of my skull like a busted and ignited gas main. The hope is that, in the process, the previous 24 hours of memory will be cleansed in the holy fire, and when the Loved One returns and asks for a cuppa I can say "Oh, sorry, I've forgotten how to" and thus keep getting coffee in bed every morning.
Cheers,
Marc
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