Distinctly cooler at night. Last night used blanket all night. Red hibiscus in flower.
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Orwell Diaries 1938-1942 
All night? How tasteless. I like to wake up after a few hours of sleep and remove the blanket from my bed for the rest of the night.
At last! The highly-anticipated Blanket Report!
This is so so poetic, I feel the lyrical swell of the blankie wafting a romantic breeze with the red hibiscus, and to even imagine if he wore or didn’t wear his shades in bed, I get goosebumps.
I just can’t help wondering if it wasn’t, perhaps, an hibiscus pattern woven into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he sat, imprisoned by inclement weather, near the window observing the grayscale machinations of a dreary society through the brown-edged tendrils of an aspidistra while wistfully polishing his shades.
Almost like a haiku, isn’t it?
Perhaps a boring day,
with blanket he had paid.
Nature at the door.
(Not so much like a haiku)
A Pillow Report is due!
“Used”?
More details please.
I wish he’d written more. I’m always left wondering if his day was so uneventful that he had nothing more to write about than the nights temperature or if he simply couldn’t bring himself to retell the events of that day?
I used a blanket last night, too.
He’s a Brit, after all, so I’m assuming in this foreign climate he often wakes up if he’s too hot to throw the blanket off, but didn’t do so for the first time this night, noting a change in the climate.
I mean, he throws the blanket off because he’s too hot. Sorry I wasn’t clear.