under another sun

Up to the smoke again. Working on the Defenders of Guernsey on the way up. But seemed to have sprung from the wrong side of bed this morning, and felt vile and tetchy all day. Not that the day's events helped, with clarity about what Jules and I should be working on hard to come by. Late to leave work. Missed the train by a second, having to arrest my gallop on board due to crowd of small children suddenly underfoot. Galled by this and prompted to some John Cleese style ranting on the platform. Galled too, after waiting tetchily for the next train, by the woman I made room for to sit next to me in the crowded train, who held my glove disgustedly between her manicured fingernails. Read the Primo Levi book on the way home. An interesting book, as much for its form as its content. Home and Lorraine had been painting parts of the living room white, a great improvement, as the wall was a species of cream with patches of dirty white.  Lorraine is on holiday and I feel a little bad ab...

Off to the smoke listening to a podcast about Anton Chekov. I think I saw The Seagull once, but that must have been decades ago. At lunchtime I snuck off to Skoob books and bought a secondhand book containing Chekov's five best-known plays as it is time to get better acquainted. I like it down there. I like squeezing past my book loving brethren beneath toppling towers of dusty books. I hate the idea of bookshops dying and being replaced by Amazon's soulless cyber monopoly. A busy but fairly cheerful day at work. Late escaping due to typical last minute agency faffing, and needing to rework copy and sit with Andrea the designer to complete a job to a tight deadline. Free at last... But prevented from getting to the platform at St Pancras as there were no trains south due to a Biblical sounding trespass incident at Cricklewood. Gallingly arrived on the platform in time to watch a cheery Brighton train zooming south. The train I eventually caught stopped at every conceivabl...