Pleasantly floral
In Brighton today doing business billing and chasing payments, (still can't think of that without thinking of rather good recent pop hit by Adele chasing pavements) and avoiding confronting the stuff my accountant has sent me. Feeling much clearer mentally now thanks to Mum's big improvement - able to focus on tying down details about a new and very interesting interview piece, and talking at a conference (thanks to a Mex contact) in July.
Snuffling with a cold off and on all day. Feeling paranoid that I will have given it to Mum.
Things took an unexpected twist when my new friend and publisher Mike called and was in Brighton. As a sophisticated American francophile he is wrong-headedly dubious about pubs and pints. I took him to sit in the hot sun in the back of the Battle of Trafalgar and he ended up having some Harveys bitter, a splendid beer as I may have mentioned brewed locally in Lewes. He was surprised, saying "My! That's pleasantly floral," and going on to express surprise that it wasn't tasting of warm horse piss. We were joined by Simon, a pleasant Brightonian who had been doing some work with Mike at Brighton Station.
From there I hurried off to be picked up by Lorraine on Dyke Road with young Mark in the car, to go off to Beth's school to watch teenage drama performances.
Beth had told me about her piece earlier and I thought it sounded interesting. She was rather good. It had the mother-troubling theme of teenage death. In it Beth walked about as a ghost, looking at all the grieving relatives, which made Lorraine cry, and grip my hand. Meanwhile I focused on not disreputably emitting wafts of beer. Lorraine's ex-husband and partner was sitting behind us too, so all in all not an entirely unawkward experience.
Home to a Chinese takeaway, and brand new Scrubs.
In Brighton today doing business billing and chasing payments, (still can't think of that without thinking of rather good recent pop hit by Adele chasing pavements) and avoiding confronting the stuff my accountant has sent me. Feeling much clearer mentally now thanks to Mum's big improvement - able to focus on tying down details about a new and very interesting interview piece, and talking at a conference (thanks to a Mex contact) in July.
Snuffling with a cold off and on all day. Feeling paranoid that I will have given it to Mum.
Things took an unexpected twist when my new friend and publisher Mike called and was in Brighton. As a sophisticated American francophile he is wrong-headedly dubious about pubs and pints. I took him to sit in the hot sun in the back of the Battle of Trafalgar and he ended up having some Harveys bitter, a splendid beer as I may have mentioned brewed locally in Lewes. He was surprised, saying "My! That's pleasantly floral," and going on to express surprise that it wasn't tasting of warm horse piss. We were joined by Simon, a pleasant Brightonian who had been doing some work with Mike at Brighton Station.
From there I hurried off to be picked up by Lorraine on Dyke Road with young Mark in the car, to go off to Beth's school to watch teenage drama performances.
Beth had told me about her piece earlier and I thought it sounded interesting. She was rather good. It had the mother-troubling theme of teenage death. In it Beth walked about as a ghost, looking at all the grieving relatives, which made Lorraine cry, and grip my hand. Meanwhile I focused on not disreputably emitting wafts of beer. Lorraine's ex-husband and partner was sitting behind us too, so all in all not an entirely unawkward experience.
Home to a Chinese takeaway, and brand new Scrubs.
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