Back to work
Up somewhat blearily. Lorraine up early and bringing tea and porridge back to the bedroom. A day of doing bits and pieces for me, including a spot of cow work for my French clients, and quoting on another job to do with the Plight of Balkan Dogs.
To the gym too, to do half an hour on the cross trainer, a.k.a. the hulk legs machine, as I have noticed what with me tearing my thigh muscle and other afflictions my legs seem far more sparrowy than normal.
Then Sainsburys to buy vegetables to complement the excellent tomato harvest from our back garden, plus a decent portion of green beans I wrested from the craven gastropods outside. Their name gives it away. They are walking stomachs and I bite my thumb at them. I cooked a rather nice vegetable and fish and rice meal tonight. Healthy stuff after the beery chip-based excesses of the weekend.
Calliope punishing my absence by pointlessly hiding in the dungeon when I was doing laundry down there, plaguing me at my desk and finding things to moan about.
Lorraine at pilates this evening. She says that getting off the gold sofa is easier now thanks to increased core strength. When she returned we watched a bit of Bram Stoker's Dracula, made by Francis Ford Coppola, which happened to be on TV and coincides with Lorraine and I reading it at night and the Whitby trip, but gave up after a while due to its silliness and our tiredness.
To the gym too, to do half an hour on the cross trainer, a.k.a. the hulk legs machine, as I have noticed what with me tearing my thigh muscle and other afflictions my legs seem far more sparrowy than normal.
Then Sainsburys to buy vegetables to complement the excellent tomato harvest from our back garden, plus a decent portion of green beans I wrested from the craven gastropods outside. Their name gives it away. They are walking stomachs and I bite my thumb at them. I cooked a rather nice vegetable and fish and rice meal tonight. Healthy stuff after the beery chip-based excesses of the weekend.
Calliope punishing my absence by pointlessly hiding in the dungeon when I was doing laundry down there, plaguing me at my desk and finding things to moan about.
Lorraine at pilates this evening. She says that getting off the gold sofa is easier now thanks to increased core strength. When she returned we watched a bit of Bram Stoker's Dracula, made by Francis Ford Coppola, which happened to be on TV and coincides with Lorraine and I reading it at night and the Whitby trip, but gave up after a while due to its silliness and our tiredness.
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