Still deaf in one ear. I now think the hole in the ceiling is ear-shaped. Perhaps my right ear is spending a holiday as a three foot hole in a ceiling, out of sheer caprice.
My ceiling, today:
A few small pieces of dark plaster and dirt have fallen through overnight, and the patch on the carpet is still damp. The room absolutely reeks of clay and plaster dust, so I’m off out for a bit. Another 25 books to get rid of. Found a signed copy of Gore Vidal’s Palimpsest, then remembered it wasn’t mine.
On closer inspection, the hole may be trying to impersonate Africa:
