Sports bar
Up early, after Lorraine and I plotted some time in France this Summer. I must return to my duo lingo course, as this was actually quite helpful when I went to Chad.
Some excitement at noon when Brian escaped from our top floor Juliette window and leapt between rooftops, in a way that if he had miscalculated would spell certain death. We lowered down a stepladder to help him scale up but he shunned it. Eventually I managed to grab him by the scruff of his neck leaning precariously though an open window.
An afternoon to myself, as Lorraine and Beth went to see the play Matilda. I sat in the garden sunshine drinking coffee and listening to Villette for a while. Then, after walking about the neighbourhood, found a quiet little sports bar, called the Preston Brewery Tap, where I watched some footie: Leicester vs Manchester United. If Leicester had won, they would have won the premiership, but they were able only to draw, but still need only two points from their next two matches. The people in the bar were friendly and I felt a kind of nostalgia come over me as I drank a couple of beers and watched the game. There is masculine refuge in watching sport. It also reminded me of the Frazier episode when a reclusive writer (based on J D Salinger) bumps into Martin in a bar watching a game, and they get on famously. It is only when the excitable Crane brothers get involved, that everything goes wrong and the author ends up burning his manuscript.
Home and watched The BBC version of Shakespeare's Richard II, which I thought was brilliantly acted and directed. The script wasn't bad either.
The ladies returned home, having had a good time, and rustled up a pasta and prawn spectacular.
Some excitement at noon when Brian escaped from our top floor Juliette window and leapt between rooftops, in a way that if he had miscalculated would spell certain death. We lowered down a stepladder to help him scale up but he shunned it. Eventually I managed to grab him by the scruff of his neck leaning precariously though an open window.
An afternoon to myself, as Lorraine and Beth went to see the play Matilda. I sat in the garden sunshine drinking coffee and listening to Villette for a while. Then, after walking about the neighbourhood, found a quiet little sports bar, called the Preston Brewery Tap, where I watched some footie: Leicester vs Manchester United. If Leicester had won, they would have won the premiership, but they were able only to draw, but still need only two points from their next two matches. The people in the bar were friendly and I felt a kind of nostalgia come over me as I drank a couple of beers and watched the game. There is masculine refuge in watching sport. It also reminded me of the Frazier episode when a reclusive writer (based on J D Salinger) bumps into Martin in a bar watching a game, and they get on famously. It is only when the excitable Crane brothers get involved, that everything goes wrong and the author ends up burning his manuscript.
Home and watched The BBC version of Shakespeare's Richard II, which I thought was brilliantly acted and directed. The script wasn't bad either.
The ladies returned home, having had a good time, and rustled up a pasta and prawn spectacular.
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