It's properly summer here in Hastings, and that means I like to spend my evenings out on the balcony to my flat, looking over the communal gardens, sitting in my garden chair reading. (Incidentally, I've just finished Kim Stanley Robinson's
2312, very highly recommended if you like cerebral wide screen space opera with no plot.) It also means that as soon as I sit down, there's a black and white presence sitting in the flowerbed directly beneath me, staring up at me.
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