View from the Sofa

There are five Fontana Books of Ghost Stories on the floor. Why I thought I was going to read any of them last night was beyond me. My white guitar is disturbing me as it is too close to the sofa on which I am sat. There is a copy of the Fortean Times ('Programmed to kill! Hypnosis made me a murderer!') on top the ghost story books, and another one ('The secret history of leylines') a bit further away.
Curtains slightly open in the living room. In the gap I see one of Andy's Cactus's looking both phallic and nightmarish, as cacti tend to do. Through the window I can see one of the lamps strung across the Mews fluttering slightly in the breeze. Sunny out there today, though that cold sun. A friend at work called weather like this 'hot/cold days'. Glad I'm not the only one who realises contradictory atmospheric descriptions are perfectly valid.
I have today off work and no plans until this evening.
Perhaps another cup of tea.
Usually the best course of action under any circumstance.
Even contradictory ones.