under another sun

A day of sluggish slogging. Lorraine at least able to drive this morning, thanks to her car being fixed. A truncated lunchtime, eating a rice bowl by the canal with chopsticks. Then calling Anton, briefly, and Mum, to arrange for me to use their house like a hotel on Thursday. Trying to clarify when I'm needed till at work, and it seems I may have an extra few days to do in December. Lots of meetings today, and I finally got the brief I was waiting for, for the last few working days, at 5:30, so I did what I could and stayed for a couple of hours. Home at 9:35 after a taxi from Brighton, so not much of an evening before I went to bed. Lorraine had cooked spaghetti, which is my go to comfort food. Both of us snailed up to bed, too tired even for The Book of Dust. Cass doing great work in the big bedroom. Almost finished reading Mister Pip , today, by Lloyd Jones.  A good read, I'd say.

A cold morning, with a nasty north wind blowing. A happy one for me, as when I went to bed my ankle was beginning to feel weird, and I was expecting an outbreak of Orc-foot, but this did not happen. Also the coldy feelings that Lorraine and I both had over the weekend did not result in bad colds. Lorraine and I scrambled into her car, but the pesky thing wouldn't start. I had to set off walking to the station, while Lorraine arranged to be picked up and had to get the AA round in the evening to replace the battery, which was dead as dodo. Lorraine remarkably calm about all this. I got on my trains and as I stood up at Victoria, found I had been sitting next to Mandy, someone I'd worked with in Hammersmith years ago. Quick chat with her, before plunging down into the tube. Work was fine, if dull. Work to be done, though. Short walk by the canal, eating chicken and avocado sandwich.  Home, reading a book called Mister Pip , by Lloyd Jones that Dawn had given it to me for my b...