Sadder and wiser this morning after drinking too many of those fiendish and unpronounceable Polish beers in The Tin Drum yesterday.

Had spent a nice day lurking about in Brighton with Toby, pausing to eat down by the sea at Al Fresco. Brighton looking especially pretty in the sun this afternoon as we walked about, with me detailing, for Toby's benefit, the many splendours of Mary Jane.

Discovered that Brighton Museum is home to one of my favourite paintings, Early Morning by Dod Procter, which I last saw in the Tate in Liverpool with Carl.

Then fatally, we met up with Brian, Anton, Anna and Baby Klauds in the Tin Drum, where those wrong Polish beers were drunk. Klauds crawling off at high speed outside every few minutes forcing constant retrieval. Later we all went back to Anton's place where we summoned another curry, this time quite a nice one.

Got home and burbled to my beloved MJ until she suggested that bed was a good idea. Struck by the deep wisdom of this I obeyed.

Texts on Saturday morning from Sarah who has had a son, 8lbs 2oz, with considerable amounts of swearing but no anesthetic apparently.

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