Strangely productive
Up at six thirty with Lorraine but not feeling somewhat hungover. I have four social events planned this week, and after the first of them I feel like I need a week of drinking mineral water. However the day was strangely productive, as I did some really good work this morning, putting together the overarching thought for next year's changes to my business model -- which in my own head I am calling project guru. I think I have stumbled across a way of talking about how the imagination relates to business that may prove quite useful.
Beth cheery today, and also helpfully arranging for a man to come and fix the washing machine, which has treacherously broken down again.
I had arranged to meet Richard and Steve tonight in the Evening Star, and drank some gorgeous dark porter rather gingerly. The place unusually crammed at first, including half a dozen Chinese guys who filed in to the place slightly nervously and wonderingly, but they were soon supping happily like everyone else. Richard, like last election, has put all kinds of complicated bets on the various possible outcomes. He seems convinced Labour are going to do really well. I wish I could agree with him. A certain amount of good natured horn locking between Steve and Richard on politics but we soon moved on to less exhausting subjects. Stair rod rain when it was time to leave. Steve had to run off for his train, but Richard and I had another half and talked about Glen quite a bit, piecing things together. It makes me sad. I danced through the rain to the station and caught a taxi, now at the back of the station. This saves me money as it cuts out all the unnecessary parts of the journey.
Home, and Lorraine awake surprisingly and quite talkative. A realisation of how lucky I am to be home in bed with my wife listening to the rain thundering on the roof.
Beth cheery today, and also helpfully arranging for a man to come and fix the washing machine, which has treacherously broken down again.
I had arranged to meet Richard and Steve tonight in the Evening Star, and drank some gorgeous dark porter rather gingerly. The place unusually crammed at first, including half a dozen Chinese guys who filed in to the place slightly nervously and wonderingly, but they were soon supping happily like everyone else. Richard, like last election, has put all kinds of complicated bets on the various possible outcomes. He seems convinced Labour are going to do really well. I wish I could agree with him. A certain amount of good natured horn locking between Steve and Richard on politics but we soon moved on to less exhausting subjects. Stair rod rain when it was time to leave. Steve had to run off for his train, but Richard and I had another half and talked about Glen quite a bit, piecing things together. It makes me sad. I danced through the rain to the station and caught a taxi, now at the back of the station. This saves me money as it cuts out all the unnecessary parts of the journey.
Home, and Lorraine awake surprisingly and quite talkative. A realisation of how lucky I am to be home in bed with my wife listening to the rain thundering on the roof.
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