A grey but warm day today. I finished writing my notes, packed papers and books away, swapped magazines with Celia – my copy of Walk for her husband’s copy of The Economist. Their neighbour’s Jack Russell is no more, having had that last trip to the vet on Monday. He used to be such a cheery soul, but his deterioration this year has been sad to see. I have a candle burning in the window for him tonight.
My RSPCA supporters’ magazine I have passed to Joe. In it there were pictures of pets needing homes. Two cats, aged ten, were said to need a home for their twilight years. MasterB has lived with me for ten years and he was three quarters grown when he arrived, so he is probably nearing his eleventh birthday. He is not nearing his twilight years any time soon. Today he has chased balls around the flat (I have the task of throwing them and retrieving them so they can be thrown again), raced around a racetrack that is invisible to the human eye, woke from apparently deep slumber when he heard me in the kitchen, chased and killed a fly. He’s in great shape. But I still haven’t put the calendar together.
I had a haircut yesterday and am very pleased with it. In over twenty four hours I haven’t had to push hair put of my eyes once. I have had to stop myself muttering at the television when I watched the news and saw people cheering a speech full of slogans and light on information by Boris Johnson at the Tory party conference. A couple of nights ago I watched the news as Cathy Newman interviewed a Tory MP whose name I didn’t catch about some of Johnson’s most questionable hyperbole and language. He’s a journalist, said the MP, as though all journalists stretch the truth (or lie in the case of Johnson) so out of shape it bears little or no resemblance to reality, and use offensive language as a matter of course. Had the MP forgotten he was talking to a journalist? A journalist who does not in anyway behave like Johnson? And why didn’t Newman pick him up on this? So many questions. So few answers.
B&J have given a home to my steam cleaner. I never use it as I don’t really have enough room for it and it’s such a faff getting it out and putting it away again. B was playing with it this afternoon, putting it through its paces to see where it can be of use around their house. J appeared to see what we were talking about. Her interest in steam cleaners didn’t seem to match B’s and mine.
Other big news: I had my first pomegranate of the season. For those of you thinking, oh pomegranates, so tricky and fiddly to eat, I have advice. Eat them when you are alone, cut them into quarters, turn them inside out and lift them to you mouth. It’s messy, inelegant. You’ll have pomegranate juice running down your chin, possibly on your nose, definitely all over your fingers, but you will have had a satisfying amount of pomegranate in a comparatively short amount of time.
Stay safe. Keep well.