Well, it's mostly perspiration this week - lots to be written in a short space of time. Thankfully, it's going pretty well; I have three pieces of copy more-or-less written and two drafts. I have two more days to go, so that should do it.
I turn the radio on, or listen to music, while I'm working and it seems to add to my concentration rather than the reverse. I remember that I used to listen to Mozart while I was writing essays for my degree, and that seemed to help too. This morning I laughed when I heard about the current problem of overcrowding in HM prisons. Not that the subject is funny, but a mental cartoon appeared to me, and I wished, once again, that I could draw. I'll try and describe it: A Judge inclines his head towards a court official and asks a question " Before I pass sentence, do we have any space available for this prisoner?" The court official replies "Yes, your Honour, we have just the one single en-suite room available tonight." It just tickles me to think that prisoners should have the best facilities. I can quite see that getting locked up could be a better prospect than sleeping rough, especially at this time of year. As I walked to the newsagent this evening,I passed a bloke lying in a shop doorway. He was tucked up with a couple of blankets and several newspapers
but I didn't see him until I was right on top of him. Not that he was any kind of threat, but it really made me jump - perhaps I'm getting wobbly in my old age.
Talking about bathrooms, Daughter has been looking on the Internet for places to rent. She and Grandson will be moving out when Son's flat is sold, and they will be moving in with the Boyfriend. Some of the rental property descriptions are laughable - one she noticed said that the Master (they don't bother with the word 'bedroom'), was "on-suit" - obviously nicely dressed. God help us and the English language - or should that be the French - if we are left to the
tender mercies of Estate Agents and their command of the language.
I have been meaning to mention Cranford, which I have been watching with Gay Friend every Sunday evening. It has rather taken the place of our video evenings for the last few weeks. Lovely. We are rather concerned, though, at the rate at which the characters are dropping off their perches. (So is Sir Terry Wogan, who has suggested that Miss Matty might be the prime suspect.) We keep hoping for something sunny to happen, but it seems unlikely. I remember reading Mrs Gaskell as part of my degree course, and thought then that she (and her women characters) certainly lived in a grim world. We have been laughing, though, at the trivial concerns of the Cranford ladies: their bonnets and their frocks, and the cow in its unforgettable undies. It is utterly charming, but also very sharply observed - and she has a wry tonque in her cheek most of the time. Only two more weeks to go, alas..