Gratefully back to work
Up at 6:30 after a night of thunder and heavy rain, with Calliope curled up at the back of my knees. Of to Brighton station in the dark feeling sorry that I was not in Guernsey still. Typically, as Lorraine had a day off work, I had a job in London. Very pleased to have it, however. Had started my kindle trial download of The Guardian and read the paper on it as we trundled slowly off to London. The driver warning us of leaves on the line, or as I began to think of it, old chestnuts on the line. Reading the paper on the kindle is less good than having the actual paper, but means that you don't elbow your neighbours nor have a newspaper to dispose of afterwards.
Working enjoyably with Keith on a tick and flea collar. Working in a room overlooking the plane trees of Tavistock square. From where I was sitting the whole window appeared full of leaves, falling around Gandhi's feet below like damp, tawny offerings. Inside, however, Keith kept drawing dogs sporting fishnet tights, which was wrong on many levels. Lunch with him and Karam in a nearby pub. At my prompting, Karam retelling his story of how he conducted a seven days sleep deprivation experiment on himself. He says that after seven days he found himself after a party in bed with a woman he had just met, but fell instantly into a profound sleep as soon as they climbed into bed.
Had a very sensible pea and spinach soup and soda and lime. After the gorgefest that was La Barbarie, I'm due a respite.
Evil office lift providing incontrovertible evidence that I am rapidly balding. All these years a full head of hair... And then this treachery. Of course baldness due to the high and manly testosterone levels that surge through the Kenny frame, unlike those of my more feminine hirsute acquaintances. However this explanation does not ring true to me yet.
Home again browsing in my kindle library, a smidge of Samuel Pepys diary here, a few Guardian articles there. Home, and Lorraine had cooked a dhal curry for Pat and Maureen. Lovely stuff. Slunk off to bed early as Lorraine, in the last act of her holiday, stayed up late to watch the final episode of Spooks.
Up at 6:30 after a night of thunder and heavy rain, with Calliope curled up at the back of my knees. Of to Brighton station in the dark feeling sorry that I was not in Guernsey still. Typically, as Lorraine had a day off work, I had a job in London. Very pleased to have it, however. Had started my kindle trial download of The Guardian and read the paper on it as we trundled slowly off to London. The driver warning us of leaves on the line, or as I began to think of it, old chestnuts on the line. Reading the paper on the kindle is less good than having the actual paper, but means that you don't elbow your neighbours nor have a newspaper to dispose of afterwards.
Working enjoyably with Keith on a tick and flea collar. Working in a room overlooking the plane trees of Tavistock square. From where I was sitting the whole window appeared full of leaves, falling around Gandhi's feet below like damp, tawny offerings. Inside, however, Keith kept drawing dogs sporting fishnet tights, which was wrong on many levels. Lunch with him and Karam in a nearby pub. At my prompting, Karam retelling his story of how he conducted a seven days sleep deprivation experiment on himself. He says that after seven days he found himself after a party in bed with a woman he had just met, but fell instantly into a profound sleep as soon as they climbed into bed.
Had a very sensible pea and spinach soup and soda and lime. After the gorgefest that was La Barbarie, I'm due a respite.
Evil office lift providing incontrovertible evidence that I am rapidly balding. All these years a full head of hair... And then this treachery. Of course baldness due to the high and manly testosterone levels that surge through the Kenny frame, unlike those of my more feminine hirsute acquaintances. However this explanation does not ring true to me yet.
Home again browsing in my kindle library, a smidge of Samuel Pepys diary here, a few Guardian articles there. Home, and Lorraine had cooked a dhal curry for Pat and Maureen. Lovely stuff. Slunk off to bed early as Lorraine, in the last act of her holiday, stayed up late to watch the final episode of Spooks.
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