The poster says it all

Lorraine not having to get up at the crack of dawn this morning, I got up made her tea, and worked on my short story, which is now almost ready to send off to a magazine whose deadline is closing in a few days. Lorraine then off to school, to talk to plumbers and do last minute work before returning, having done pilates.

I went out this evening to meet Anton and Christian, over from Australia, in the Evening Star. They had already drank a few beers and had a curry. Not seen him for some years, and it was great to drink some halves, as they were drinking halves, with them. Christian done very well in marketing in Australia, and is now working for a big bank there. Same mix of Aussie down to earthness, with a streak of astute sensitivity. Nice to reminisce about old times. We went back to sit in Anton's garden, it being warm still, and had an absolute bloody final before I walked home.

This being a dark day when the evil clown Boris Johnson was elected to be prime minister of this God-forsaken country, nice to see that someone had slapped this poster at the top of Trafalgar Street in Brighton. The poster, and myself with Christian both snapped by Anton.