Up then Down: after an inauspicious start (leaking boiler), I bestrode this morning like a moth-eaten colossus. I went to the bank and the dry cleaners, posted letters and sorted out my invoices, called the plumber, made appointments and checked my bank balance to discover TWO of my large outstanding invoices had been paid. But then in the afternoon I got another comically massive bill that is, without a shred of exaggeration, double the two of them put together. I say comical, I'm just pretending it's a joke. It's for the best. I just .. can't. Nonono. Fully ostriching.
Up: the sun was actually warm today. Weepette and I stood out in the back yard, both of us pressed against the wall, eyes closed, for twenty minutes and it was properly lovely.
Down: my lunch, however, was truly revolting. A new culinary nadir, made from leftover salmon rejected by all of us as too disgusting to eat last night, fried up with some other unpleasant oddments from the fridge. I have no explanation of this, other than 'idiot' and 'half hearted Dr Perricone' ("is there a facelift in your fridge?', asks the worryingly reptilian Dr P to which I must reply 'no, Doctor Lizard, but there are 500 heads of chicory and half a flabby salmon fillet in an ill-advised marinade I still have to choke down, so this 3 day facelift better start happening soon'. The chicory isn't Dr P's fault, we went to a rural market to examine chickens for F's imminent birthday - don't ask - and our heads were turned by bargain chicory).
(Parenthetical down: L has just come down - it's half eleven - to tell me he can't sleep because he has 'Poisoning Pigeons in the Park' going round and round in his brain. New rule = no Tom Lehrer before bed).
Up: there's a frankincense themed giveaway going on over on Full Fat Facegoop (which M has redesigned most elegantly).
Down: a new low in Belgian philately, and god knows, things weren't exactly great before now. Truly awful. Perfect for your accountant, small claims litigation, letters of complaint to utility companies, all correspondence requiring a certain degree of gravitas:
DOGS! CHEER UP.
NO REALLY, DOGS. YOU ARE CASTING A PALL.
The dogs remind me of the cubes of destiny you get on OK Cupid, where they send you a montage of photographs of hopefuls with the tantalising message 'one of these people chose you!' (it is invariably the one who makes you involuntarily recoil from your screen in alarm/revulsion). If these dogs were my OK Cupid montage ... well. I don't even know who I'd be hoping for. But I would DEFINITELY get top left on the bottom set, and the poodle on the top.
Who would be your canine OK Cupid death match?