under another sun

Cold this morning on the platform, and very reluctantly off to work today. Finished listening as an audiobook to  The Imaginary Girlfriend , a short memoir by John Irving today. Lots of stuff to do with wrestling in it. Then started listening to The Power, by Naomi Alderman, who is friends with Margaret Atwood and it is rather a good novel. Went into work this morning like I was entering a ring. Unexpectedly, however, the day was fine, and the vileness of yesterday abated, and Keith and I were simply allowed to get on with our work. I walked around in Russell Square at lunch and called Mum, who could hear as I was talking to her a strange cacophony of squeakers, a vuvuzela and drums from over the hedge when I was there, and it turned out to be a security guard's protest outside the university. Was able to leave work on time and meet Anton in the evening at The Joker for some beers and woof-woof wings and generally to put the world to rights. Great to see Anton, though much w...

Looking for perspective Getting things out of proportion today. The image of a chess player kept coming to mind. I felt I have been stroking my chin considering my next move against an enigmatic opponent. The gym helps a great deal. Otherwise all my doings seem like a hill of beans. All quiet on on the copywriting front despite the Taxman required necessity to keep busy. Unable to concentrate on my own work in the meantime, and my confidence is low when I should be tooting my trumpet to publicise the CD launch. Listening to old podcasts, Yann Martel talking about The Life of Pi , and John Irving talking about A Prayer for Owen Meany . I found Life of Pi hard to love, but Martel an interesting man, who came from a secular background to become fascinated with religions while living in India. John Irving, as I supsected was just great. I learned that he always starts writing his books by writing the last line first.

Pass me my fez Off to the quack this morning as ankle still terrible. They are piping music into it the waiting room these days. I'm not sure Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin was exactly the right choiceand for doctor botherers. My very likeable quack gave me an prescription for gout pills, and Zapains (codine and paracetamol) and we laughed about them zapping the pain. After buying a gout stool, fez and smoking jacket, made off to London again. Work fine, loped alongside Nicola at lunch to score some food. She has leant me A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving which I began reading today. It is a wonderful book judging from the first 60 pages or so. One of Nicola's favourites. The character Owen Meany is tiny, and it is a rather fitting read as I am still working a bit on growth disorders in children. Home again, the Zapain working well, although making me feel vacant. Home to Lorraine, who had cooked a lovely meal, but had to go next door and babysit little Joe for half ...