2010 — 3 July: Saturday
Overnight drizzle, it seems, and a nice sunny start to what feels like a cooler day ahead.1 Brian Matthew's "Sounds of the 60s" is keeping me company with my start-em-up cuppa. Which of my innumerable tasks shall I tackle today, I wonder? I suppose breakfast would be a good one to start with.
The dominatrix who lives in my sat-nav box brought me safely out2 from the Sandwell and Dudley railway station at which I'd decanted Claire just in time for her train after feeding her at the pub beside the delightfully-named "Bumblehole Meadow" a mile or so from dear Mama's house — we'd nipped in to check it was not on fire, pick up any mail, and so on.
Actually, I was back home before she was back in London. She, however, still had the energy to attend a midnight performance of "A midsummer night's dream" at the Globe whereas I slumped in front of my PC and then tottered off to bed. That's what an extra 27 years does for you, I guess...
Now, about that breakfast. I may have to fight off an ant or two (million). It's 09:05 and I'll be awake any minute now.
I'm amused to see...
... The Guardian welcoming "Times" readers repelled by Mr Murdoch's paywall. Source and snippet:
We know you like Caitlin Moran's Celebrity Watch but excellent though Caitlin is, check out her inspiration: Marina Hyde's Lost in Showbiz. (Sample quote: "Until Wednesday, Madonna had appeared to be dealing with the Guy-shaped hole in her existence the best way she knows how: by frotting a couple of nuns on stage every night in a crowd-thrilling tableau that hints at both the eternal fragility of the human heart and the recession-proof nature of amyl nitrate.")
I was dismayed to see Claire reading the "Daily Mail" yesterday, but she's still young... (And, after all, I read it for the two years I was in student digs in Hatfield. Even Lynda Lee-Potter's column. But I didn't pay for it.) In somewhat later years I also read the "London Review of Books" for a year when I took out a subscription, for items like this mild reproof of an attempt to derail Darwin.
Relaxing
To the light jazz that is Jacques Loussier's "take" on Erik Satie. It works well. Better do the dishes, however, to forestall another anty incursion out in the kitchen. It's 14:40 and deliciously mild. And peaceful. Has all the nasty sport ended?
Supping?
It's 20:20, the evening meal is onboard, and I'm giving serious thought to taking up the offer of a glass of wine over the road. After all, I'm not driving anywhere tonight!