Jerked awake in a Pavlovian style at seven, despite having forgotten to put my alarm on.
Hobbled downstairs for hurried porridge and simultaneous scan of email. Joan had thoughtfully sent me a photo of Ontario's favourite intrepid feline.
MJ in a huff with me so had to reply to an email, which compelled me to employ stumbling but rapid orc-like shuffle to make it down the hill to catch the train by the skin of my fangs.
Irrationally quite bitter on the train about absence of servants. Reflecting how extraordinary it is, now we have reached the 21st century, that the t-shirt I had to fling on the floor would still be there when I got home, as will the washing up.
Best practice re food and drink abandoned today. Michel back from snow boarding in the alps with Max. Over a nice lunch of seabass (me) and brill (French Bloke) and a bottle of wine he was very funny about how his Winnebago (aka the pimp wagon) still has a breakdown ratio of more than one per journey. He said he had briefly contemplated setting it on fire about the fourth time it broke down in France, Max made him drink heavily instead. Thirty miles from home in the UK at 1:30 last night a tire burst too as a final insult.
In the evening after work I met Katie briefly in the OSP for a brace of beers and a chat. Blurting stuff out to her about MJ, and hearing about her trip to South Africa next week. We left hurriedly as the pub quiz was starting.
Journey home fine and was reflecting cheerfully how my ankle and back seemed somewhat better today due to horse pills. As Joan said in her note, I am too young to be falling apart. But you are never too young to be a world class hypochondriac.
Spoke to MJ tonight. Sigh. She certainly is a Peter Kenny favourite.
Pinkie the wondercat -- pictured relaxing at home having put on a bit of winter lard.
Hobbled downstairs for hurried porridge and simultaneous scan of email. Joan had thoughtfully sent me a photo of Ontario's favourite intrepid feline
MJ in a huff with me so had to reply to an email, which compelled me to employ stumbling but rapid orc-like shuffle to make it down the hill to catch the train by the skin of my fangs.
Irrationally quite bitter on the train about absence of servants. Reflecting how extraordinary it is, now we have reached the 21st century, that the t-shirt I had to fling on the floor would still be there when I got home, as will the washing up.
Best practice re food and drink abandoned today. Michel back from snow boarding in the alps with Max. Over a nice lunch of seabass (me) and brill (French Bloke) and a bottle of wine he was very funny about how his Winnebago (aka the pimp wagon) still has a breakdown ratio of more than one per journey. He said he had briefly contemplated setting it on fire about the fourth time it broke down in France, Max made him drink heavily instead. Thirty miles from home in the UK at 1:30 last night a tire burst too as a final insult.
In the evening after work I met Katie briefly in the OSP for a brace of beers and a chat. Blurting stuff out to her about MJ, and hearing about her trip to South Africa next week. We left hurriedly as the pub quiz was starting.
Journey home fine and was reflecting cheerfully how my ankle and back seemed somewhat better today due to horse pills. As Joan said in her note, I am too young to be falling apart. But you are never too young to be a world class hypochondriac.
Spoke to MJ tonight. Sigh. She certainly is a Peter Kenny favourite.
Pinkie the wondercat -- pictured relaxing at home having put on a bit of winter lard.
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