under another sun

Sunday, doing a few odds and ends during the morning, and having chats with mum, and also catching up with Janet who is plotting a beano for Ken's 85th birthday. Lorraine preparing for her job interview which is happening this week. The afternoon spent in the garden with Lorraine, regaining control of our flowerbeds. Because we were so mad for planting in Spring the beds were choked with flowers and dozens of spiderwebs. These we thinned out, and took down the tomatoes which had given us a pretty bumper crop, and talked to each other about being more disciplined about flowers next year. Be interesting to see what happens. I think our worst failure was beans, sadly. The snails ravaged them and we had barely half a dozen pods from them, some of those pre-gnawed by gastropods. Lorraine found a toad in the garden too, which appears to live under the decking. We left it to its own devices. In the evening Betty cooked us a rather excellent roast chicken, and then John offered to go o...

Vodka in the rain Up early and working hard on some conceptual branding work for a Dutch Vodka. This went rather well, and had the bulk of the job done by lunchtime. A delighted client, and a few calls during the afternoon, but all well. Typically the thought they liked best was the one I had about five minutes after taking the brief. All this meant I was manacled to my desk, and only ran out to my 'larder', the Marks and Sparks in the station. The lovely rain fell steadily for the first time in a while, Calliope spent a good deal of time indoors and looking for trouble; rushing me unprovoked from across the room and wrapping her forelegs around my shins, getting a mouthful of trouser and shaking her head savagely, when not attempting to rest her head on my shoulder when typing. (It was me typing, not the cat.) I haven't heard the mysterious toad croak today. I thought that's what they did in the rain. Opened my window to listen for it, and looked down at a man in the T...

The omen of the golden toad The lovely Christiane, God daughter of Anton, and living now in Australia, sent me a note today, which said: I was just reading your blog for the first time in a couple of weeks and on reaching the bit about toads in the channel islands, i felt compelled to tell you that i had the strangest dream 2 nights ago which featured you and you had a big golden toad living in a pond under your house. This is, clearly, a very good omen. Of what I am not sure, but it is a good one. A pleasant day today. Started the day being filmed with some other chaps from the agency queuing outside a pharmacy on the Fulham Palace Road. Then the business of working itself, which wasn't bad. I made time for a swim for the third day. Feeling whale like. Imagining people pushing me back into the pool when I started to crawl out, rushing about with buckets of water and tarpaulins etc. and looking about anxiously for the rest of the pod. Had a quick drink after work with some collea...

Commuters and a crapaud Is there anything more British than moaning about commuting? Moaning being a great national pastime, and with millions of people commuting every day it gives us all great scope. And the worst thing about moaning is you have to do it. For example I had to stand all the way from Brighton to London this morning, and had to get a two more trains before reaching Putney. London of course still paralysed by the tube strike in the morning. My ticket did not open the barrier at Putney, but a man behind me put his ticket in without thinking, so I could surge to freedom, as the barrier snapped behind me barring his exit. I did him a favour, however, because I gave him something extra to moan about. Then a 40 minute walk to reach the office. The day draggy but I began to feel a bit livelier than I felt for about a week, and could think a bit straighter. A momentary diversion caused at work by about ten girls dressed as Can-can dancers arranging themselves in a circle on the...