Sunday …

Dear Diary,

Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in F major, Op. 102 on the radio. Ortiz sparkled, as per. Ashkenazy steered the ship like a seasoned captain in champagne seas.

I dozed off at my desk somewhere in the second movement, and dreamt of fairy cakes. Actual fairy cakes ! Sponge-bodied sprites with buttercream hair and sugar spun wings, flitting about in the golden sunlight of a dappled magical forest. Tapping their dainty little frosting feet in gentle rhythm. 

Biggie snored from his patch of sunlight on the office rug, in perfect counterpoint, perhaps dreaming his own dreams. Rivers of gravy, illicit slices of cucumber and secret morsels of cheese passed under the dinner table. 

I woke up feeling as though I’d eaten something magical.

Curiouser and curiouser.