The comfort of strudels

Woke up at 5:30 both Lorraine and I up early, wrong footing the cats, and I caught the early train full of grey faced sleepy heads. I felt much more cheery and made it early to Tavistock Square.  I sauntered off with Kate in the lunchtime sun to look at dresses for the French Bloke and Max's wedding this weekend.  For Kate, not me, obviously. I don't look great in a dress. Although I did once wear a fetching dogs tooth two piece and a red wig while working for IBM in a once only appearance as a female impersonator.

A modicum of lung disease work this afternoon.  Listening to Titus Groan on the way home, but it is heavy going. Peake writes like a poet, so much of the joy is in the description. This invites rereading. As an audiobook you plough through, and I keep thinking I must go back to look at certain passages. Another distraction is that I have become addicted to a game called Stick Cricket on my phone, which I played so obsessionally that my eyes hurt.

The Shard looks like a tower in Mordor.

Home, and watching The Great British Bake Off with Lorraine. Both finding Strudel bake off action curiously compelling. Watching people bake is curiously comforting. Then I faffed ineffectually with one of the aquariums whose filter has ceased to work before an earlyish night.

Below stick cricket.

Comments