It’s so wet here and even upon peeling off my socks I can barely make out where the water ends and the feet begin. And then my olfactories open as the dog greets me with lick-to-nose and it’s the same thing: where does the wet-dog smell stop and the dog herself start? I dare not eat under these conditions, which remind me of Maugham. And this story. And hot water bottles. What a perfect night for a hot water bottle.
Bonus: treats by email
Keep my lights on – buy an audiobook
Icelander, by Dustin Long.
(more coming very soon)
- A Little Cloud, by James Joyce (4)
- Eric B.: Lovely, as ever, and much-needed.
- Maria: Dear Miette, I am thrilled to see that you have not forgotten us. I still go back through your collection of...
- John: Thank you Miette! I’ve enjoyed listening to every podcast you have published. I’d love to hear that...
- R. W.: Hurrah!! I’ve been waiting for this! Miette, you’ve made my week!
- A Mother (3)
- Liz Ladd: Missed you this Bloomsday, Miette! Perhaps The Dead, someday? I’d definitely contribute to a crowd...