Feeling under the weather this weekend: a mild temperature, sore throat, headache and general lifelessness. As these are all symptoms of Covid after a double jab, and I had been training up to London and back earlier in the week, and had gone to the gym, I did a precautionary PCR test, Lorraine driving us through a carpark at Sussex University, we got the results early the next morning: both negative. Those drive through places really well organised, cheerful and strangely reassuring.
Lorraine did everything alone on Saturday, while I mainly lurked in bed. She took the cats to the vets for their yearly M.O.C. ministry of cats checkup, all basically okay. She also had an excellent haircut, arriving home with her hair long and flicking out.
Jade back to Scotland on Sunday morning. She and Sam seemed to have great time together. I felt hadn't had much time to chat to her.
I delved back into reading about Emily Carr the Canadian painter. I had taken Janet's books on the subject after she died, as we talked often about Carr. Reading about Carr, born in B.C. made me think about Janet. I miss her. Good that I can at last remember her and Ken without immediately thinking of their infuriating families. With Emily Carr, and the Group of Seven, Canada has a heritage of amazing and still underrated artists.
Dawn came around Sunday afternoon for a cup of tea, and a chat. Talked about books and travel, and caught up with the gossip.
So quite good fun, but the thousand things that must be done are still not done and and all my hopes for my own writing pressing at the window like dozens of sinister starlings.
I was definitely brighter by the end of the day, just in time to start work again tomorrow, the thought of which makes me feel very Molesworth. Chiz.