Gauling and galling

Working today on a job to do with France, which made a change. Much of the day in my study enjoyably scribbling concepts, and intermittently leaning out of my window in a roll necked sweater to smoke a Gauloise and think about the reality of nothingness within existentialism. In short a pretty fine day.

Also put another coat of paint on my front door in the early morning sun before I got down to my work. Returned to look at it a couple of hours later and it had about two dozen bubbles, each about a centimetre-round, standing proud from the paint. Sigh. This door is galling.

At about four Lorraine called by. She is on a school holiday at the moment, and we wandered down to the sea, and sat on a groyne with the sun at our backs, and waves gradually encroaching under our feet - and all was well.

After a busy half an hour doing this in which my decision to go freelance yet again seemed powerfully big and clever, we sat outside listening to a singer play lots of soul classics with his guitar, and sip a beer or two. Then we shot off to eat a curry in a cold restaurant and home where I listened to Smokey Robinson.

Below a singer in the April sun.