A knobbly heart

First day of autumn. Up early as usual. Porridge breakfast again. Up and struggling with podcast names. I can't believe how difficult this is being, given that I have named a many products and services as a copywriter, and that Robin and I are both poets to boot. Prepped questions for Elizabeth, an editor based in Cork. Also worked on the new Grace book, and had a quick squint at the idea for the short story I blurted out yesterday. 

Since saying I was open to persuasion about doing some work with my pals in Paddington, an entirely predictable absence of response. 

Watched Boris Johnson in the commons at lunchtime, announcing 6 more months of restrictions. Not sure what else he can do really.  

Then I prepped and painted the downstairs bathroom walls, a lighter shade of grey than they are now -- lots of nooks and crannies -- I did not go for a walk today and I have to balance productivity with the psychological boon taking myself out for walkies gives me. Listened to an interesting start the week episode from the BBC with Claudia Rankine and Margaret Atwood -- including Rankine discussing how her husband was humourless and was hard work. With a wife like that, who needs an enemies?

Back to work for a bit, but then spoke to Mum. After this went outside to pick three of our tomatoes. They are monsters. I am ridiculously pleased with them.

Lorraine wearily home and I fed her fishcakes, and corn on the cob and Kenny Farm fried tomatoes. The Great British Bake Off started tonight. L pleased by this.

Look at these beauties. 0.62kg (one and a third pounds in old money). One of them is like a knobbly heart.