Filthy, filthy mood but I will not elaborate (there is nothing particularly enlightening to elaborate on anyway, I am just in A Mood, probably attributable to tight trousers). It would be a bit unseemly today. Enough of my puny problems.
Wednesday is the day I escort F to his terrifying Chinese lesson and then I get to sit in a bar for an hour in absolute peace. I don't bring any work unless it's madly urgent (and right now I have a frightening dearth of work, whether madly urgent or otherwise), I just .. sit. With a book and a cup of mint tea and whatever tiny sliver of cake they have decided to provide on that particular day (it's this place and I'm often the only person at 3 on a Wednesday, which is lovely). So I did that (chocolate fondant today, very good) whilst the guys from the kitchen had their late lunch or early dinner in the corner and a man on a mini digger bashed the hell out of a hole in the road in front. Even this did not bother me as I am reading Code Name Verity and it's utterly gripping. Oh! Apparently it's a young adult book. Whatever, it's brilliant.
The children have gone diving this evening after a day of loudness and forgetting stuff and sowing a trail of mess and destruction and trying to ride the Weepette like a horse, causing me to grind my molars repetitively whilst muttering under my breath. Very shortly I am going to go upstairs with a cup of tea and run a very hot bath and lie in it silently in the dark, limbs hanging uselessly by my side like a giant crocodile in a David Attenborough film. They would be ill-advised to disturb me.
After a shaky, Anthony Gormley box of smoke style start, the fire is working properly tonight and I have that lovely doomsday survivalist glow that comes from knowing there are Plenty More Where That Came From. The dog has assumed his traditional pancake position approximately on the hearth where I assume he will spend much of the next eight months.
Fishfingers and peas and oven chips for dinner, verily the apex of crap easy meals that are inhumanly delicious. All hail, Captain Birds Eye/Capitaine Igloo/whatever else he is called in other places. What do they call the genial bearded man on your fishfinger packet in your country? Or are you all panko coating your own sustainable coley fillets?
I can never see enough neon lobsters. This one is just round the corner attached to a very shabby looking restaurant I have never ventured into. I strongly suspect that if they have an actual lobster, it has been there since approx. 1994 and is a family pet. I snapped it whilst walking the dog in an early evening drenching, when it was looking very jaunty against the thunderously grey sky.