Monday, first thing.
It's quite late here. Around three in the morning, to be precise. I should be asleep, but am not and have no plans of going to bed any time soon. In the golden days, I'd read a book. I still have various volumes piled on a desk by my bed for that purpose. They are books of short stories, or of non-fiction full of funny, amusing and/or astonishing facts that can be read while one is surrendering. These, by the way, are my favourites, since their reading seems to encourage some truly stupendous dreams. At the present I can see a volume of famous last words, two on etymology, my old book on notorious poisoners and Chambers' 1869 The Book of Days. I used to have an edition of Pepys's Diaries, but it failed to carry its duty to put me to sleep one too many times and is now back on the shelf.
I had listened to Timothy West play Rumpole earlier and then to a couple of Teahouse stories [BBC Radio] before it was time to watch The Office. [I know I should make some loud noises after what the Americans did to Coupling, but I really do like the American version. I suspect that watching the show due to a repulsive fascination for Dwight is not very original, but then there's the even less original cheering for Jim. I'm sheep, I suppose.] After The Office it was off to bed. Except, like I mentioned before, I didn't manage to sleep. Tossed and turned plenty though.
Well, I shouldn't complain. It's been good to be able to do the television thing again. Watching the Doctor with the young'un was a bonus. She had been describing some of the earlier episodes to me, but we managed to actually watch the last ones together. She was quite upset, but relieved that Rose didn't get killed. Her main concern was for the Doctor and how lonely he'll be, all over again, now that Rose is gone. My one comment is: what a perfect way to end the season! Surprisingly poignant.
Writing has made me tired. Have a brilliant Monday - temperate and agreeable. Suitable for watching hippos bathe and auspicious for tasseomancy.
It's Leonardo, Miss. Vinci is where he was from.
- 10 year old girl.
I had listened to Timothy West play Rumpole earlier and then to a couple of Teahouse stories [BBC Radio] before it was time to watch The Office. [I know I should make some loud noises after what the Americans did to Coupling, but I really do like the American version. I suspect that watching the show due to a repulsive fascination for Dwight is not very original, but then there's the even less original cheering for Jim. I'm sheep, I suppose.] After The Office it was off to bed. Except, like I mentioned before, I didn't manage to sleep. Tossed and turned plenty though.
Well, I shouldn't complain. It's been good to be able to do the television thing again. Watching the Doctor with the young'un was a bonus. She had been describing some of the earlier episodes to me, but we managed to actually watch the last ones together. She was quite upset, but relieved that Rose didn't get killed. Her main concern was for the Doctor and how lonely he'll be, all over again, now that Rose is gone. My one comment is: what a perfect way to end the season! Surprisingly poignant.
Writing has made me tired. Have a brilliant Monday - temperate and agreeable. Suitable for watching hippos bathe and auspicious for tasseomancy.
It's Leonardo, Miss. Vinci is where he was from.
- 10 year old girl.