On this, the first day of October, we shall write a four line poem about: the restless ghost.
Made it to the garlic festival. Had too many people for Max's liking (Kat and I were both surprised by how popular it was as well). Still managed to pick up a few things before leaving.
Another day off tomorrow?
Goodness. I feel rather spoiled.
Wandering these same halls,
Watching his every move,