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I am at Residencia 1863, a literary residency run by the Galician poet Yolanda Castaño. The apartment is in a 19th century building in the old town center. It used to be a photography studio. The former occupants left the sentry on the balcony.

Look, a Notting Hill homage.

This is how I met my cat Drogon. “I’m just a cat, lying in front of a large, ungainly cat, asking her to feed him.” And provide a litterbox. And regular vet visits. And expensive stuff to sharpen my claws on. And an online talk show I can appear on.

This is the work table, already colonized by my stuff. There’s a working typewriter. I miss typewriters: you had to pound the keys so your writing had conviction. Erasing was a pain, though.

The neighborhood is very quiet and it’s a five minute walk to the sea. Current temperature is 11 degrees, a cool respite from microwave Manila.

Speaking of cats, there’s one on the fountain in Plaza del Humor.

Down the street, the Praza de Maria Pita. Maria Pita led the defence of La Coruña during an English attack in the 16th century.