Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun

An enjoyable Bank Holiday, intermittent rain all day on the holiday town of Brighton. I got up eager to write. This enthusiasm was dampened by my computer problems, which after an hour of struggling spontaneously righted themselves.

Having written nothing, I walrussed off to the gym, which quickly made me feel better despite it being packed. Passed some families in rainproof clothes who decided to brave it for the day. Bless them.

Returned to cook a breakfast for myself and Lorraine who spent the day in my dressing gown, till leaving at 3.00pm, while I spent the day intermittently working on my Pharma job and reading the papers, or doing some shopping in the rain. Lorraine for some reason shuns umbrellas.

Inspired by Randolph, I spent some of the evening in the company of Schopenhauer and Calliope the cat. Breaking off to walk up the hill to feed Anton and Anna's cats. Suddenly very popular with them when I arrived.

This aphorism, from On Psychology which must work for email too. (Or, if you are a cat, people stealing in to feed you.)

If you want to know how you really feel about someone take note of the impression an unexpected letter from him* makes on you when you first see it on the doormat.

* In Schopenhauer's time, of course, women were unable to write.