Brief encounters
Off to London this morning to take a brief in Tavistock Square for a job to do from home. My meeting became an opportunity for the four people briefing me to have a festival of tetchiness. Getting to the relevant points so I could do the job was a struggle.
Still nice to chat with everyone, Pat just returned from Cuba, and had really liked it. As expected, there was no advertising, and only flaking political slogans about the revolution, which were periodically repainted.
Soon I was able to melt away armed with a memory stick, and training back down to Brighton in the middle of the day. The sun is now so low, that even at 1.00 pm it shone in my eyes through the carriage windows.
Afternoon spent tinkering with this work while Brian and Calliope took turns in standing on my desk and mutely imploring me for food. Betty at home and not feeling well, coughing and glued to the gold sofa in her onesie and occasionally popping out for a restorative smoke. In the afternoon she needed to record a voice demo of something randomly factual. I gave her one of the excruciatingly dull pieces I'd written for On Track about sustainability, which seemed to do the trick. Later, Dobby style, she cooked a rather delicious pasta bake in the evening of which I found myself eating three helpings.
Lorraine home having not been able to buy Xmas tree lights. We have three lots of lights, two won't work, and the third set have gone AWOL despite a renewed ransack of the house.
Still nice to chat with everyone, Pat just returned from Cuba, and had really liked it. As expected, there was no advertising, and only flaking political slogans about the revolution, which were periodically repainted.
Soon I was able to melt away armed with a memory stick, and training back down to Brighton in the middle of the day. The sun is now so low, that even at 1.00 pm it shone in my eyes through the carriage windows.
Afternoon spent tinkering with this work while Brian and Calliope took turns in standing on my desk and mutely imploring me for food. Betty at home and not feeling well, coughing and glued to the gold sofa in her onesie and occasionally popping out for a restorative smoke. In the afternoon she needed to record a voice demo of something randomly factual. I gave her one of the excruciatingly dull pieces I'd written for On Track about sustainability, which seemed to do the trick. Later, Dobby style, she cooked a rather delicious pasta bake in the evening of which I found myself eating three helpings.
Lorraine home having not been able to buy Xmas tree lights. We have three lots of lights, two won't work, and the third set have gone AWOL despite a renewed ransack of the house.
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