Tuesday morning was a little mad.
Anna couldn’t wait to escape to South London; I got a feeling that the kittens felt the same.
Actually - why not make that all four of us?
I waited until sunlight before letting them out - the kittens, not Anna.
They were out of sight, but most certainly not out of mind - a little too long for my liking as well.
I tried all the usual tricks: rattling the dry food container, wandering down to the garden shed, making a fool of myself at 8am calling out “DAISY!” and “DOTTY” so that half the village could hear.
Nothing.
Hey hoe.
I had work.
I pressed on and left the back door open.
Half an hour later and Dotty darted in. Something wasn’t right.
She hid behind the settee for a few minutes. I don’t think that Daleks live at the back of the garden shed.
Daisy then appeared on the roof of the shed. She was clearly looking at something.
EXTERMINATE…
She also came in, and I decided to reward them with some more food, and then grounded them for the remainder of the morning.
Kittens are a worry.
#catslol, etc.
I settled down with the work, listening to Serenade Radio as the soundtrack.
Modern music has passed me by. I now know more about songs from the shows than I do about some of the twaddle you read about in the NME these days.
I feel very comfortable with this position, Comrades.
I escaped over luncheon for a midday swim.
It was a spectacular estuary high tide; it was also bloody beastly out there with the December damp.
The swim picked me up. I ticked off 40 lengths, sharing the whole pool with just one other swimmer. I even had a little time to arse around in the steam room.
Sniff and the Tears were the unlikely sound being pumped out on the gym PA as I passed through.
TUNE!
Cat flap training for Tuesday was crap. These two make the mad cat seem like Einstein.
Use your head, girls.
Neil came round mid-afternoon. We’ve got him booked in next week to build some wardrobe doors to replace the curtain that we inherited for the bedroom walk-in wardrobe.
It’s not that we have finally taken an interest in the interior of the house; it’s more a case of the kittens taking an interest in my finest Saville Row whistles hanging within.
The conversation turned towards boats and moorings down at The Quay. I think that I have found my 2017 project.
Don’t tell Anna.
Man Alive!, etc.
I had some more South Lambeth Road company business to sort out late in the afternoon.
Tip: if your Company Director ever departs, nail them down first to get as much information as possible.
We are unravelling…
I downloaded Mule’s Last Boy in the Locarno album.
Yes, he’s impossible, but he’s also actually rather lovely. I don’t think that he reads this. Top tunes, anyway.
I finished reading the Duncan Hamilton Clough biog early evening. It’s the first time in a long while that I’ve completed a library book in the first cycle before it is due to be returned.
Hamilton was always my personal insight into the world of Forest, growing up reading his Evening Post reports. It’s hard to imagine a world where all news on a local football team came through a singular channel of a local paper.
It’s a wonderful read, combining the personal trajectory of Hamilton with that of his more high profile subject matter. I’m tempted to renew and read it once more.
Tuesday evening was spent with one eye on the kittens, and one eye on the Arsenal Vs Everton match.
And to bed early.
BIG day in South London tomorrow.