Moths and a Heinkel He 111
An early start on my writing, reworking my Moth Display poem for the 100th time, and possibly getting it right this time. Also brooding over the skeletons.
Two calls mid-morning, one from my old chum the French Bloke and the other a teleconference with a major pharma company. These calls have put any moths who have gathered in the Kenny Coffers on notice, as I now seem to have enough work lined up to take me into December. It starts next Monday with the old FB. Looking forward to seeing him, and doing a bit of sustained pharmaceutical work.
The pharma call was a teleconference, which Calliope took as an invitation to twice run up my body with her claws out. Not swearing violently was rather an achievement, as I was on a speaker phone pitching to several people.
Despite her bursts of manic energy, she is still not right, so I will have to do the vet thing again. However despite being off colour she has a new game, which is sneaking into the bathroom to unravel and shred yards of toilet tissue.
Spoke to Mum and Mas, being cheery as they seem to have the kitten bug too, and Mum is looking into kittens.
In the afternoon Ken called around to give me a late birthday card, and a present. It was only polite to seize the opportunity to drink some wine. Ken told me about the painstaking work he is undertaking, transcribing centuries-old French from photos of hand written manuscripts. We also discussed the second world war, and he told me about being a young lad on a bus driving through Coventry two days after it had been flattened in the war. Lots of rubble, unsurprisingly. I asked if he was traumatised by it, but he said that it just seemed normal.
He also told me about how one morning walking to the village school in about 1941 he heard an aircraft engine noise "that wasn't one of ours". Then a black painted Heinkel flew over very low, and Ken shouted at it and waved his ten year old fists at the easily-visible airmen inside.
Lorraine popped by briefly in the evening for a speed date. Ten minutes of TV, a fast slope off to collect a Chinese takeaway before she melted back into the night.
An early start on my writing, reworking my Moth Display poem for the 100th time, and possibly getting it right this time. Also brooding over the skeletons.
Two calls mid-morning, one from my old chum the French Bloke and the other a teleconference with a major pharma company. These calls have put any moths who have gathered in the Kenny Coffers on notice, as I now seem to have enough work lined up to take me into December. It starts next Monday with the old FB. Looking forward to seeing him, and doing a bit of sustained pharmaceutical work.
The pharma call was a teleconference, which Calliope took as an invitation to twice run up my body with her claws out. Not swearing violently was rather an achievement, as I was on a speaker phone pitching to several people.
Despite her bursts of manic energy, she is still not right, so I will have to do the vet thing again. However despite being off colour she has a new game, which is sneaking into the bathroom to unravel and shred yards of toilet tissue.
Spoke to Mum and Mas, being cheery as they seem to have the kitten bug too, and Mum is looking into kittens.
In the afternoon Ken called around to give me a late birthday card, and a present. It was only polite to seize the opportunity to drink some wine. Ken told me about the painstaking work he is undertaking, transcribing centuries-old French from photos of hand written manuscripts. We also discussed the second world war, and he told me about being a young lad on a bus driving through Coventry two days after it had been flattened in the war. Lots of rubble, unsurprisingly. I asked if he was traumatised by it, but he said that it just seemed normal.
He also told me about how one morning walking to the village school in about 1941 he heard an aircraft engine noise "that wasn't one of ours". Then a black painted Heinkel flew over very low, and Ken shouted at it and waved his ten year old fists at the easily-visible airmen inside.
Lorraine popped by briefly in the evening for a speed date. Ten minutes of TV, a fast slope off to collect a Chinese takeaway before she melted back into the night.
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