Get food. Vet's. Groomer's.
Long weekend's filling up fast.
There goes the long naps.

My train reflection
Looks just like my mother's face.
When did I get old?

Old man with noodles
Has prepared for the future --
His dinner looks good.

Working on Sunday.
Just rewards will come later --
Three-day weekend next :)

(a smiley is silent, right? using it as punctuation :) )

Wet nose in my face,
Perfect start to Saturday --
Dog days of summer.

Husband with backpack;
Wife slides paper into it.
Perfect partnership.

Countdown to weekend.
Frivolous use of haiku.
Brain slowly dying.

He cannot hear much
But surely he can feel love.
Happy Father's Day.

Thank god it's Friday.
I can switch the brain off soon.
There, haiku done. Bye.

Don't like six-day weeks.
Next weekend's too far away.
Grit teeth and hang on.

Just half the equation

Aunty S left behind a whole lot of pineapple, so I caramelised them under the grill, and now I'm missing just the tipsy cake to go with it. Dining at Heston Blumenthal's Dinner has spoilt me somewhat -- can't eat pineapple now without syrup-drenched cake.

Rupert is missing something too. He's missing Aunty S. He ran round the house looking for her yesterday. Later, he also stuck his head through the neighbour's gate to check if she was still there chatting to them.

Houseguest, suitcase gone.
Futon moved out from spare room.
Complete erasure.

A sunny Sunday.
Should be heading for the beach,
Not going to work.

Finally, Friday.
Just one day's rest before I
Work on Sunday. Bleah.

House guest with suitcase
Dispenses treats and skritches.
The dogs are in love.

The Queen means nothing.
Watching Jubilee broadcast
Cos I miss London.

Had a long weekend.
Lazy. Read. Facebooked. Houseworked.
Didn't write no haiku.

Long to reign over us all

OK, so some queen is celebrating her silver jubilee this weekend. But this Queen has ruled 70 years in human years already. QE II has some catching up to do.

Riding the bus

Another bus route.

A different city outside.

Miss the Number 6.

I took the bus to work the other day. So far (since returning to work after my vacation), I had been taking the train. It's faster. But I do like to take the bus now and then, especially if I have the time to spare. You look out the windows, enjoy the scenery going past, and don't feel that you're commuting to work. The journey and not the destination, that sort of thing.

While on vacation, I took the No 6 bus almost everyday, partly because the bus stop was just 2 minutes down the street while the Tube station was a good 10-15 minute walk. Coming back home on the No 6 bus was a no-brainer, simply because it was a 24-hour service. And above all, the No 6 went past Oxford Street, Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square -- essential London, and you could walk from the Oxford Circus stop to the other essential bits like Leicester Square and Covent Garden.

On the second last day, my travelling companion mused that the bus ride into town everyday would be one of the things we don't think we'll miss, but will miss once we get home. And she's right. After a few days, you develop a routine of looking out for a greengrocer's display; a window that doesn't have curtains so you could see what the homeowner was doing in his spacious kitchen; a man reading by a book light while TV light flickers from the next room.

And now, I'm back on the 163 to work, sorely missing the little details of the No 6. But slowly, the joys of the 163 are filtering back. There's a house that always has a dog napping in the driveway. There's a lovely road with old mossy trees on the divider. A mini-getaway. Too bad I get off the bus and into the office.

Lots of room on bed

But the dogs squeeze against me.

I think they love me.