under another sun

Bleary morning. Dragging myself unwillingly to work. Left my flask of tea on the side so as the dire First Capital Connect trains have nothing onboard drank my first cup of tea at an unprecedented two and a half hours after getting up. A poor experience. Reading an MS by Mark Hill, a writer who I once worked with, who is living Portugal. Interesting book about him leaving London in the midst of a mid life crisis, with a broken heart and a drink problem, and his gradual recovery living in a small village in Portugal. A series of small things got my day off to a slightly askew start: being shouted at not to use a lift I was walking into because it was for a paramedic in the office reception; an email from the people who are managing my property saying that someone had crowbarred the door knocker from my door in the Twitten and what was I going to do about it. And an irritating discussion with unhelpful colleagues: a collection of small Pooterish peeves.  In a lull, I happened...

Yellow day Decided an entirely new wall could do with being yellow. Felt a bit like Mr Pooter and his famous red paint in Diary of a Nobody but at least I managed not to paint the inside of my bath. Anton and Oskar called around and we went for a mooch around town. Weather returning to type now that it was a bank holiday: cool and grey with some rain. We pottered about looking at various books and CDs and chocolates for a while. Oskar is such a golden looking baby, especially now he has caught the sun. But returned home, feeling on the edge of a gloom. So on the last day of my holiday I kept busy painting, applying new coats of red and yellow, and listening to the radio. Also sawing dead branches off the small tree in my yard, and experimenting with a spray which cleans carpets and so on. IM with Sprinkles who had her first day back at work today this evening. She was urging me to wear my Vera Wang for Men to work tomorrow. Seems a bit of a waste.