After nine and I have just eaten. Honestly, my stomach thought my throat had been cut. I don’t know yet who is London’s mayor. The gungho forecast at breakfast that it was Boris was rather less gungho by the time the PM programme came on Radio 4 at six o’clock. I am rather hoping it isn’t Boris as although I think he can appear funny and charming, I also think he is completely ruthless and untrustworthy. And he keeps endorsing extremely tall buildings as prestigious housing projects and the prospect of an airport on the Isle of Sheppey depresses me. It’s a vanity project.
I can’t say the idea of Ken as mayor fills me with delight either. The best thing that can be said of either of them is that they are not in their parties’ pockets.
Now, how did that paragraph happen? I didn’t mean to talk politics at all. Last time I was at das Boot, I took the winter covers off the bows. As a result, draughts are whistling around the fore cabin tonight. Consequently, over my legs there’s a pink fleece blanket the colour of apple blossom that was Mother’s. And three layers of clothing and a silk scarf on my top. The heater is on too. NotCat is asleep a foot or so away from me, which is good news for the daddylonglegs hanging from the window. He is wearing his harness. He had a little explore from the car, but alarmingly managed to back out of part of the harness (sold as a garment that cats could not shrug off) and I had visions of him disappearing up one of the numerous trees. I had to exercise a patience I did not feel to coax him from under the car and to safer territory. Continue reading