Tongue or tail?

My dream orders, on my mind’s TV camera
I think I’m Bogey living in Casablanca
Scattered newspapers drift across the rotted land
Spreading spurious lies and sordid details of my private life
An angel swope to my chest swooping all it’s glory

The sun is shining. I assemble beds. Nick drops on for coffee. Angus returns in a van with speakers. We fiddle and fuss and fettle with a thousand pointless things.

The snake is active. Unusual in daytime. I feed the snake. It snatched the dead mouse, crushing it unnecessarily. We think it’s lost interest, but then it returns and slowly, methodically crams the mouse past its jaws. Only the tail protrudes and then it, too, is gone.

I spend a happy hour rewiring the sensors on the water tank. It takes more detective work than it should have. The sun keeps me warm, the breeze cools me down, the cleggs keep me moving.

After tea, Angus, Megan, and I watch Casablanca, while Claire reclines downstairs. Half way through the film she discovers an email offering her a Biology job at another Glenrothes school. Part time. We celebrate.

And then watch Layer Cake.