This post is going to be as light as a soufflé. I decided that anyone who could be bothered to read yesterday's needs a break. When the soufflé sinks, I will write in italics - thus.
Someone has written the word 'FRANCE' in red lipstick on the wall of the art gallery opposite. This is intriguing - is it a personal name, the name of the country, a message about where to meet up? Why lipstick, and why underlined? Were they male or female, and were they drunk or sober? Like Sherlock, I am jumping to no conclusions, just because it is lipstick.
I learned yesterday that a friend of mine died recently of lung cancer. He smoked about 60 cigarettes a day and his lips went blue through lack of oxygen.
Green Eyes has got her dream job, following very toppy results in all her exams. From tearing her and everyone else's hair out who happened to be near her, she is very happy. I couldn't wait for the Christmas Round Robin to tell you. Did you know that the old postmen were called 'robins' because of their red jerkins?
I worry sometimes that I live my life through younger others and that I am only mildly content when drunk and smoking.
I have just been commissioned to restore a garden feature originally commissioned by Capability Brown. I will source the materials needed and oversee the whole thing, which will - in the main - be done by younger others.
I cannot remember the last time I became so involved with my work that I forgot the time, and I cannot remember the last time I leapt out of bed looking forward to doing it.
I have decided (for both of us) that this year's Summer holiday will be spent somewhere in the British Isles, and I am truly excited about this prospect. Ideally, it will be spent in a 16th or 17th century building, close to the sea.
I have lost all desire to holiday abroad and the ability to withstand temperatures over about 70 f. I would be happy to never set foot in an airport again, and the current global turmoil has rid me of all sense of adventure.
The older I get, the more I enjoy the company of children, who I used to avoid for the sake of what I thought of as 'peace'.
The older I get, the more I am irritated by the company of adults. I am pretty sure that this condition is reciprocal.
There are two entrances to the art gallery over the road, or - more appropriately - one main entrance and one exit which doubles-up as a disabled entrance if you ring a bell on the wall next to it. It is very amusing to see all the foreign visitors ignore the message on a brass plaque which tells them where the main entrance is just around the corner (with a large arrow pointing the way) and who press away at the bell until someone lets them in whilst the doors open automatically, accompanied with a loud beeping sound! This happens every few minutes during the day!
Why can't the fucking idiots work out that you should walk round the corner to the main entrance?