The politics of angels
Bought the unspeakable Daily Mail this morning, to check a small press ad I'd written in it about Brittany. Some monkey had broken the headline overnight, however, by adding an unneccesary word. Only a small job, but as a writer it galls.
Still feeling very sluggish and enervated but slogging steadily to the end of Skelton Yawngrave, and my mind buzzing with how to approach the Guernsey project. My brooding only broken by a crocodile of children walking past in the Twitten, and as I glanced out of my study window I saw Klaudia was one of them. Made me feel sentimental to see my Goddaughter walk past apparently so carefree, along with lots of other five-year-olds holding hands.
Lorraine told me today that she has asked some teachers and children to read Skelton which is fab. She is a great boon.
Popped up the road to Anna and Anton's house to see Christian and Jane, and meet their new baby Ava who has an endearingly imperious expression, and is the spit of the big Aussie bear. Quite funny to hear Oskar, covered in chicken pox scabs bless him, calling Ava "baby Ava". There is a hierarchy of babies. They are doing well in Australia, having moved there three years ago. Caught up quickly over a few beers, before I left the two families to their night.
Some may say that I'm not getting out enough at the moment, but I've noticed my Siamese fighter and my angel fish are harbouring resentments. First, the previously timid angels began to harry the fighter, following him around the tank. Now the fighter is standing its water, flaring his gills and intimidating the angels, especially when he can get them singly. It is all threat and bluster with no physical fighting, but nevertheless is fascinating to watch.
Only torn away by The Wire which is every bit as good as its hype.
Bought the unspeakable Daily Mail this morning, to check a small press ad I'd written in it about Brittany. Some monkey had broken the headline overnight, however, by adding an unneccesary word. Only a small job, but as a writer it galls.
Still feeling very sluggish and enervated but slogging steadily to the end of Skelton Yawngrave, and my mind buzzing with how to approach the Guernsey project. My brooding only broken by a crocodile of children walking past in the Twitten, and as I glanced out of my study window I saw Klaudia was one of them. Made me feel sentimental to see my Goddaughter walk past apparently so carefree, along with lots of other five-year-olds holding hands.
Lorraine told me today that she has asked some teachers and children to read Skelton which is fab. She is a great boon.
Popped up the road to Anna and Anton's house to see Christian and Jane, and meet their new baby Ava who has an endearingly imperious expression, and is the spit of the big Aussie bear. Quite funny to hear Oskar, covered in chicken pox scabs bless him, calling Ava "baby Ava". There is a hierarchy of babies. They are doing well in Australia, having moved there three years ago. Caught up quickly over a few beers, before I left the two families to their night.
Some may say that I'm not getting out enough at the moment, but I've noticed my Siamese fighter and my angel fish are harbouring resentments. First, the previously timid angels began to harry the fighter, following him around the tank. Now the fighter is standing its water, flaring his gills and intimidating the angels, especially when he can get them singly. It is all threat and bluster with no physical fighting, but nevertheless is fascinating to watch.
Only torn away by The Wire which is every bit as good as its hype.
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