12 February 2022

Andreae Callanan
A stack of three 150 gram sleeves of Crawford's Custard Creams. Their packaging is an appropriately custardy yellow; at the right end of each sleeve is a red logo that says "Crawford's EST 1813," and on the left end is a photography of two rectangular sandwich cookies. The three packets are sitting on a dining room table; just behind them are several cotton net shopping bags. Beyond them, the general clutter of daily life.
A stack of three 150-gram sleeves of Crawford’s Custard Creams. Their packaging is an appropriately custardy yellow; at the right end of each sleeve is a red logo that says “Crawford’s EST 1813,” and on the left end is a photography of two rectangular sandwich cookies. The three packets are sitting on a dining room table; just behind them are several cotton net shopping bags. Beyond them, the general clutter of daily life.

Post-booster fatigue today. A bit of proper reading — finished Stephen Kuusisto’s Planet of the Blind, and started Alexis Shotwell’s Against Purity: Living Ethically in Compromised Times. Now undoing all my good mental work by watching Blackadder the Third. Baldrick has just burned the only copy of Johnson’s dictionary and Edmund is rewriting it. The Romantics have been sent back to Mrs. Miggins’s to await a roister. It’s like grade eleven all over again.