Nothing but the wild rain

Randolph called. His play Only Free Men is going well in Lewes. He said the stress was raised as the understudy for the main female role has had to step in with a week to go. He told me he is now beginning to believe he may not have a heart attack, which is good news. The understudy was rather alarmed at the prospect, but has done well. I will see the play on Saturday. The action concerns two intelligence officers questioning a British Doctor suspected of terrorist involvement.

Three bouts of thunder in Brighton, accompanied by persistent torrential rain. In the Twitten I drew up the ramparts. The weather forced Calliope indoors to grumpily sleep with her head on the corner of my keyboard, while I began last year's accounts. Luckily for me these are fairly simple: you simply get a payment at the end of the job. The outgoings, of course, are more complicated. Thank God for spreadsheets.

Funny chat with Al today. I will be doing some ailment based work with her next week, this is timely and means that a holiday to Canada is now a probability. Another TV zombie night: The Wire and Battlestar Galactica, which is a tense and paranoid SF epic. Far better than any recent Star Trek series.

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