Vodka in the rain
Up early and working hard on some conceptual branding work for a Dutch Vodka. This went rather well, and had the bulk of the job done by lunchtime. A delighted client, and a few calls during the afternoon, but all well. Typically the thought they liked best was the one I had about five minutes after taking the brief.
All this meant I was manacled to my desk, and only ran out to my 'larder', the Marks and Sparks in the station. The lovely rain fell steadily for the first time in a while, Calliope spent a good deal of time indoors and looking for trouble; rushing me unprovoked from across the room and wrapping her forelegs around my shins, getting a mouthful of trouser and shaking her head savagely, when not attempting to rest her head on my shoulder when typing. (It was me typing, not the cat.)
I haven't heard the mysterious toad croak today. I thought that's what they did in the rain. Opened my window to listen for it, and looked down at a man in the Twitten pouring the contents of a small bottle of spirits into another plastic water bottle. I glimpsed the glass bottle he replaced in his bag: vodka.
When the work stopped I felt a kind of muffled elation. I listened to A Passage to India again. Almost through it now, but it is so beautifully written and full of a bleak pity for its stilted characters that the words are like rainfall on the soul. What a book, every bit as good as I remember it.
Nice chat with First Matie, who is squirrelling money, but spending her life driving long distance to a long freelance job. Spoke to Mum and Mas who have infuriating computer woes, but otherwise seem perky, and looking forward to the Tobster arriving from Canada. In the evening looked at Matt's CV as he is applying for a post conducting an orchestra. Very impressive.
Bed early, after talking to Lorraine who has spent an enjoyable day in Essex with her old pal Rachel and family, and then watching a documentary about medieval England. To paraphrase the message: if you want to understand medieval England, you need to understand taxes. The villains were taxed by church and state, and worked their scraps of land dotted around the village (not the nearby fields because the landowners, often the church, owned those), until bad harvests and the hard winters of the mini-ice age or the Black Death ended their miserable taxpaying sojourn.
Up early and working hard on some conceptual branding work for a Dutch Vodka. This went rather well, and had the bulk of the job done by lunchtime. A delighted client, and a few calls during the afternoon, but all well. Typically the thought they liked best was the one I had about five minutes after taking the brief.
All this meant I was manacled to my desk, and only ran out to my 'larder', the Marks and Sparks in the station. The lovely rain fell steadily for the first time in a while, Calliope spent a good deal of time indoors and looking for trouble; rushing me unprovoked from across the room and wrapping her forelegs around my shins, getting a mouthful of trouser and shaking her head savagely, when not attempting to rest her head on my shoulder when typing. (It was me typing, not the cat.)
I haven't heard the mysterious toad croak today. I thought that's what they did in the rain. Opened my window to listen for it, and looked down at a man in the Twitten pouring the contents of a small bottle of spirits into another plastic water bottle. I glimpsed the glass bottle he replaced in his bag: vodka.
When the work stopped I felt a kind of muffled elation. I listened to A Passage to India again. Almost through it now, but it is so beautifully written and full of a bleak pity for its stilted characters that the words are like rainfall on the soul. What a book, every bit as good as I remember it.
Nice chat with First Matie, who is squirrelling money, but spending her life driving long distance to a long freelance job. Spoke to Mum and Mas who have infuriating computer woes, but otherwise seem perky, and looking forward to the Tobster arriving from Canada. In the evening looked at Matt's CV as he is applying for a post conducting an orchestra. Very impressive.
Bed early, after talking to Lorraine who has spent an enjoyable day in Essex with her old pal Rachel and family, and then watching a documentary about medieval England. To paraphrase the message: if you want to understand medieval England, you need to understand taxes. The villains were taxed by church and state, and worked their scraps of land dotted around the village (not the nearby fields because the landowners, often the church, owned those), until bad harvests and the hard winters of the mini-ice age or the Black Death ended their miserable taxpaying sojourn.
Comments