Walking like an Igor...

I'm sitting on big squishy sofa, and not some bizarre piece of polystyrene which is what passes for a sofa in Senrab Street. I'm in Cambridge again. I am in love with the house, but that's because my loss of a contact lens means my blurry vision means I can't properly see the grubbiness. I do love it though. I like being in London, I like being on the balcony listening to other peoples' music, conversation and meals waft across. I like sitting on the front step, feeling like a person in a soap opera, people-watching. Lovely as the new house is, it was a little weird being there alone, so I'm back in Cam, which is strange after the relief of leaving it, to finish a painting, practise some Spanish and watch lots of Black Books.
I am walking, well limping, like some kind of evil side-kick - an Igor, because I pulled a muscle in my foot yesterday. I stagger around, in a half crouching position. If I could do an evil laugh, I could scare children I reckon. Nora thinks I could go to Transylvania - I'd definitely get a job as a butler.
Back in London on Friday.