2009 — 8 October: Thursday
I didn't realise until after I'd selected it that I took tonight's picture of Christa exactly two years ago. She was doing a spot of tidying up in the front garden. Gawd knows what she'd say if she saw it now (though I could make an accurate guess):
Alas, the new Richard Curtis film largely failed to float my boat. It was all rather worthy and quite jolly in its way, but somehow lacked a vital spark.
Since it's now 01:38 or so I guess I'd better get some sleep. It finally seems to have stopped raining. Again. G'night.
Brightly shines...
... the sluggish new day. It was probably a mistake not to go to bed until nearly 3 a.m. but I'm retired you know. A fresh cuppa is doing its best to wake me up. I've also confirmed my route for tonight (thank you, Google Maps) even if I'm still jim-jammed. It's 09:12 and that Bragg chap is wittering on about Paris at the time of the Dreyfus affair. Fascinating.
I wonder where this Brooklyn artist (Alyssa Monks) got the patience for her photo-realistic paintings? Her canvases are not small, either. I wonder, too, what the resurrection of Arthur Dent will be like.
This ghastly story (of course) reminds me of the headache strip here. Only one of these is funny. As is Phyllida Law on "Woman's Hour".
After YATTTT...
... the living room is once again looking tidy, the sausages are doing their under-the-grill thing, the (micro)chips are about to have their date with the (micro)wave, the peas too (though I shall scoff the tomatoes at room temperature). It's gloriously sunny, with an almost cloudless blue sky (what a rotten day to turn down a walk, in fact, but I've got done quite a lot of what I need to). After lunch, I shall treat myself to a little expotition before the bigger one this evening. It's 13:20 and counting.
Arrived back at 16:10 to a very welcome message from Brian the plumber. Not only has he found a new radiator in the same size, but he can swing by tomorrow morning to whip out the old one and, with luck, whizz off with it (and maybe even the older one — from Junior's room — which is languishing beside one of the garden sheds). Meanwhile, I managed to score my next fix of Word magazine in "Borders", uncut by anything else.
Right! It's 17:46 and I've just scoured all the remaining hiding places in the loft without uncovering any further DVD artwork. I've also put back up there a small, select set of saved pieces — clearly labelled for the convenience of future generations. I seem to have a lifetime's supply of quilts and blankets of varying "tog" value up there, but that's a task for another day. I even found some of the books I'd written in ICL that Christa had saved. Good grief!
I have a map. I have a post code. I shall clamber out of the filthy rags and make tracks for my distant evening meal. Better sign the lad's birthday card too.