Awoken by a heavy rumble on the windowsill, I embraced autumn’s moody morning
with columns on yet another new prime minister, soaring electricity bills, and the war
in Ukraine—the usual, I guess. Then, after this exercise in my meticulously implanted
islander tongue, I took care of my spine—a mere ten minutes of yoga gimmicks seems
to do the job—and made breakfast. I also opened the heavy curtains to let some light in,
but there was no light. It’s the north, after all, a quiet place of little inconvenience.
hidden pilcrow 