Kvetching

Hot again, blue cloudless sky. Resumed my Monday desk with a song on my lips, but the melody quickly snatched away by BT internet. I could send or receive no email till the evening, and wasted time on futile conversations with people at BT, too time-consuming and dreary to go into.
 
Ordered tiles for the bathroom. And was watchful of Brian who had I think been in a nasty fight the night before, and was moping about but seems to be not physically harmed. Perhaps it is just his pride.

More Philip Roth. The Anatomy Lesson is full of kvetching* and not thought of as his best, and quite amazingly self-indulgent. It is one of three semi-autobiographical novels about the consequence of having written a semi-autobiographical novel. It did make me laugh when the main character, Nathan Zukerman, (an author of a famous semi-autobiographical novel) is on a plane talking to the man next to him, and telling him that he is a pornographer, and going into incredible detail about his imaginary business, and giving his name as his worst literary enemy.

Spoke to Mum, when she and Mas were free of the company of Barry next door.

Cooked and when Lorraine arrived, I fed her we watched a spot of football. The end of the exciting Japan Belgium game. Japan surprised everyone by going two nil up in the second half, and I was a bit sad when they were beaten, though their ganbatte was plain for all to see.

*Kvetching is a word I learned today, and it means persistently complaining. I like it: kvetching is a word that spoke to me today.

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