...and it's the day after the Baird book launch at the Sackville Street bookshop, Sotheran's, which was okay - in that sort of okayish way that things sometimes are. About 45 choir members, who were roughly in a 7:1 ratio of guests.
Still, it is done, and it was fun.
Bookshop had the feel of a part of the Harry Potter filmset: all Diagon Alley and gnomic shop assistants who'd been hiding behind the Architecture bookshelves since before Merlin was a lad... emerging only to read ancient texts for Indiana Jones and knight errants heading in search of grails, holy and otherwise.
Choir sang quite well I thought. Enjoyed accompanying. Nice time at pub after and then chasing the Scotsman in the car in the rain.
And now back at cafe Esca to tip tap away while Aviary awakes from her German slumbers somewhere in Nether Clapham and gives us a bell.
Enabled a my.opera.com account today (oh the irony!) Which seems happy to transfer largeish files across the e portals of the intersphere - maybe it's sumo/opera-singer sized processors can cope with my file sharing at last after the disappointing performance by AOL. One would have thought that America on line would be capable of some 'going large...'
Life gets back into the swing of the thing again after the week away from reality that was Herefordshire. My bodyclock took a bit of a blow I can tell you and the Harmer twitchiness was twitching after several days on Greek timekeeping back in London...
Esca's filling up now with mums and tiddlyum's enjoying the Friday feeling of a bit of space a the end of the week.
Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus today. Good day for a cooked breakfast perhaps...
Why do computer answers (on the question mark buttons of programmes) not provide the ability to click on what they are telling you to do??? I.E. why do we have to try and remember numerous degrees of jargon and process in order to do the operation we're looking up instead of just being able to click on the process described...? Answers on a postcard please!
There's a little toddler tucking into some bacon just behind Chloe's screen... ooh now she's enjoying a sausage... 'Is that nice?' says Mum.
Scottish accent...
I always feel a bit shy saying my name when on the phone in a public place... chap just other side of table has told me (inadvertently) that his name is Daniel. I suppose he could be on the phone to himself or no-one and all that solipsistic paranoia. I remember Jack Lewis asking in a book once how one knew there was a city called New York and how we would prove that if we hadn't definitively been there. How too I suppose can you prove the name of anything?
Guess it's that part of us that is in definition by where it touches others that becomes our name, our identity etc.
This is just musing and wonderings. Nothing much to say today.
Still, it was a good morning for a cooked brekafast! And for that....
Molto grazie!
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