A telescope
More unspeakable nightmares. No idea why any more. Spent the morning working, and then broke off to have an eye test. Nice man who spoke a mangled ophthalmologist's language. I've written extensive websites about eye health, but found him hard to follow. The upshot, as far as I could tell, was that my peepers are no better or worse than last time. This was something of a result as I didn't have to buy new ones. Spectacles I mean, not eyes, that would be grotesque.
Met Randolph for an overdue and rather jocular coffee this afternoon. Good to talk to a fellow writer, and hear about the ordeal of getting his new play staged, makes all my projects sound like a walk in the park. We got to talking about the comedies of the election, and literary quarrels where he told me about Dostoevskyand Turgenev. This from the New York Review of Books:
Miaow. And I hope people won't say this about me in Guernsey.
And on that note, Charlotte my next door neighbour's sister who frequently stays, says that her little dog is afraid of Calliope, who apparently provokes it every chance she gets.
Early evening, met Lorraine on the seafront, tracking each other down using our phones, while I adopted a loping walk to be noticed. Strolled about happily, and stood looking out to sea on a groyne, watching a fisherman about his lugwormy business. Very relaxing, despite the seafront being full of furiously exercising people, and footballing fatties who looked like a Beryl Cook people. Drove off to pick up Beth, where Lorraine got an appalling road rage at a woman who nipped into the car parking space she had earmarked.
Home and got sucked into a much-needed revamp of my personal site, which I have neglected somewhat. Spoke to Sophie half way through the evening, who fortunately hadn't been appalled by my gargling of ouzo like a thirsty sailor. I didn't mention the ghastly toilet door business.
Then I worked for a bit, until it was suddenly 2:20am. D'oh.
Below Beryl Cook people.
More unspeakable nightmares. No idea why any more. Spent the morning working, and then broke off to have an eye test. Nice man who spoke a mangled ophthalmologist's language. I've written extensive websites about eye health, but found him hard to follow. The upshot, as far as I could tell, was that my peepers are no better or worse than last time. This was something of a result as I didn't have to buy new ones. Spectacles I mean, not eyes, that would be grotesque.
Met Randolph for an overdue and rather jocular coffee this afternoon. Good to talk to a fellow writer, and hear about the ordeal of getting his new play staged, makes all my projects sound like a walk in the park. We got to talking about the comedies of the election, and literary quarrels where he told me about Dostoevskyand Turgenev. This from the New York Review of Books:
Dostoevsky quarreled with Turgenev because they resented his “foreign” leanings and habits. Meeting in Baden-Baden, Dostoevsky told him that if he was trying to write about Russia he had better buy a telescope. “A telescope,” said the startled Turgenev. “What for?” “Because Russia is a great distance from here. Train your telescope upon Russia and it will not be difficult to see us distinctly.”
Miaow. And I hope people won't say this about me in Guernsey.
And on that note, Charlotte my next door neighbour's sister who frequently stays, says that her little dog is afraid of Calliope, who apparently provokes it every chance she gets.
Early evening, met Lorraine on the seafront, tracking each other down using our phones, while I adopted a loping walk to be noticed. Strolled about happily, and stood looking out to sea on a groyne, watching a fisherman about his lugwormy business. Very relaxing, despite the seafront being full of furiously exercising people, and footballing fatties who looked like a Beryl Cook people. Drove off to pick up Beth, where Lorraine got an appalling road rage at a woman who nipped into the car parking space she had earmarked.
Home and got sucked into a much-needed revamp of my personal site, which I have neglected somewhat. Spoke to Sophie half way through the evening, who fortunately hadn't been appalled by my gargling of ouzo like a thirsty sailor. I didn't mention the ghastly toilet door business.
Then I worked for a bit, until it was suddenly 2:20am. D'oh.
Below Beryl Cook people.
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