Muffled yippees and confusing feelings
Lorraine and I up early to eat healthy porridge, Lorraine off for her final morning of work, and I went to my study to complete the last smidge of freelance work as well as returning my signed tax form to Andrew. The last bit of worky work I am going to do till the new year, God willing. A few muffled yippees in the Peter Kenny The Writer Ltd. nerve centre at this point.
Beth and John up later, and Beth cooked me a hobbit's second breakfast of a bacon sandwich. Jade and Sam got up later still. I walked to the post office and, having posted my tax stuff off, stood on top of Blakers Park looking down at the pencil grey sea and feeling a lovely moment of freedom.
Fond farewells to Sam and Jade, and to Beth who were all travelling to London. I waited with them outside as they smoked cigarettes waiting for the taxi. The rain starting with gusto as they clambered in. Calliope bolted through the open door in a willful show of independence but then bolted back chastened by the weather.
In the afternoon a walk off to see Janet and Ken. The weather still foul, not cold but a soaking rain and blustery wind. A warming cup of tea there and some homemade shortcake, and we had chats on various subjects. They are coming to ours for Christmas day which is excellent.
Lorraine and I dog tired tonight. I cooked Lorraine an unexpectedly good supper incorporating the delicious and sweet red cabbage dish she had cooked the day before into a curry, and she spent the evening wrapping presents on the sofa next to me.
With time to think, my mind drifting into strange subjects. Reading about the Vichy airforce in WW2, and brooding on the fate of Jose Mourinho, a.k.a. The Special One, the most successful Chelsea manager of all time but sacked a few days ago due to the 'treachery' of some of his players. The rumour mill suggesting that he might be appointed by the citadel of malevolence that is Manchester United. A move likely to create deeply divided feelings in me, let alone die-hard super fans. The idea of finding myself rooting despite myself for a Manchester United team would be like suddenly discovering that one's lifelong sexual orientation had changed overnight. I must learn to hate him.
Below Jose puckering up for United? Anton will be pleased.
Beth and John up later, and Beth cooked me a hobbit's second breakfast of a bacon sandwich. Jade and Sam got up later still. I walked to the post office and, having posted my tax stuff off, stood on top of Blakers Park looking down at the pencil grey sea and feeling a lovely moment of freedom.
Fond farewells to Sam and Jade, and to Beth who were all travelling to London. I waited with them outside as they smoked cigarettes waiting for the taxi. The rain starting with gusto as they clambered in. Calliope bolted through the open door in a willful show of independence but then bolted back chastened by the weather.
In the afternoon a walk off to see Janet and Ken. The weather still foul, not cold but a soaking rain and blustery wind. A warming cup of tea there and some homemade shortcake, and we had chats on various subjects. They are coming to ours for Christmas day which is excellent.
Lorraine and I dog tired tonight. I cooked Lorraine an unexpectedly good supper incorporating the delicious and sweet red cabbage dish she had cooked the day before into a curry, and she spent the evening wrapping presents on the sofa next to me.
With time to think, my mind drifting into strange subjects. Reading about the Vichy airforce in WW2, and brooding on the fate of Jose Mourinho, a.k.a. The Special One, the most successful Chelsea manager of all time but sacked a few days ago due to the 'treachery' of some of his players. The rumour mill suggesting that he might be appointed by the citadel of malevolence that is Manchester United. A move likely to create deeply divided feelings in me, let alone die-hard super fans. The idea of finding myself rooting despite myself for a Manchester United team would be like suddenly discovering that one's lifelong sexual orientation had changed overnight. I must learn to hate him.
Below Jose puckering up for United? Anton will be pleased.
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