The Paunch Persists

The air cooled nicely overnight. Lorraine had a bad dream and screamed. I was awake instantly, but had to wake her. The night before it was foxes screaming that woke me. The day, when it came, was another scorcher but the heat seemed, in Brighton at least, a little less intense.

With Keith today, and everything went smoothly with nice new clients on an enjoyable job. Otherwise took delivery of a pair of jeans, and a kindle for Lorraine. Also Robin uploaded the last Planet Poetry episode for a couple of months and I wrote the blurb. 

Following the Tory leadership race because I want all of them to lose. Pleased the swivel-eyed Suella Braverman fell at today's fence. Enjoyed the robot-in-the-headlights launch speech by Liz Truss. She is the current Foreign Secretary and one of the intellectual Lilliputians regarded as a favourite alongside Dishy Rishi and Penny Mordaunt -- a Harry Potterish name. Commentariat suggesting a Mordaunt vs Sunak final. To be decided by Brexity Tory Party members in their shires who I can't see voting for a 'foreigner' like Sunak. To me it is a Mordaunt or Truss win. Credit to the Tories, though it pains me to say it, for putting up a diverse range of candidates.    

Sloped off to the gym at teatime, listening to a good In our time podcast about Dylan Thomas. I like some of Dylan Thomas. It is Dionysian. 

There are muscles ghosting under the blubber and I am somewhat springier and stronger. Regrettably, the paunch persists. Perhaps it is because I am eating chocolate on the sofa at night with Lorraine, who is consuming it for therapeutic reasons. Even though there is some air conditioning in the gym, it is still hot and I am sweating copiously on the cross trainer. 

Shunning booze, lapping mineral water. Prepared proper summer fare for us all tonight. A large salad made of all kinds of leaves, mustard and cress, pea shoots, capers, black and green stuffed olives, 'cute cumbers' (as Kieth calls the smaller cucumbers), radishes, white onion, tomatoes, gherkins and so on with feta cheese and new boiled potatoes. Proper summer fare. 

Sam increasingly enjoying taking himself to the pub of an evening. Lorraine home late, having attended her last school performance as head teacher. A cheeky Star Trek then an earlyish night.