under another sun

Woke up at 5:30 both Lorraine and I up early, wrong footing the cats, and I caught the early train full of grey faced sleepy heads. I felt much more cheery and made it early to Tavistock Square.  I sauntered off with Kate in the lunchtime sun to look at dresses for the French Bloke and Max's wedding this weekend.  For Kate, not me, obviously. I don't look great in a dress. Although I did once wear a fetching dogs tooth two piece and a red wig while working for IBM in a once only appearance as a female impersonator. A modicum of lung disease work this afternoon.  Listening to Titus Groan on the way home, but it is heavy going. Peake writes like a poet, so much of the joy is in the description. This invites rereading. As an audiobook you plough through, and I keep thinking I must go back to look at certain passages. Another distraction is that I have become addicted to a game called Stick Cricket on my phone, which I played so obsessionally that my eyes hurt. The Shard...

Training up through the morning mists to London again. Another sunny day spent in the umbra of an office. Off at lunchtime to Kitty's again for a takeaway tray of Thai niceness. Listening to Mervyn Peake's Titus Groan , as an audiobook. Such an original and brilliant writer, unlike anyone else in English. Interesting too because he lived in Sark, and I have briefly met his three children at the Guernsey literary festival last year. Home rather frayed, despite a comparatively smooth journey. Lucky to have some food waiting for me. Beth back with Laura, whose unmistakably eyelashed car was parked outside. Packed and got myself as humanly ready as possible for Michel's stag do this weekend. Lorraine and I both tired; an early night.