Friday, 6 August 2010
Am supposed to be catching up with all the essentials tonight: tackling heaps of laundry, and sorting out the unsorted piles of paperwork. The dirty washing I can deal with, but the teetering towers of bills, etc, are driving me to distraction. Literally. Every time I look at them, I immediately find something else to do, eg investigating the new boden autumn catalogue, answering the telephone to random cold calls from credit card companies, eating another flapjack, wondering how I will learn to use the television remote control, when neither of my sons are available to change the widget from play-station thing-y to the correct setting (whatever that might be).
Edna O'Brien said August Is A Wicked Month (and what a sad book that was; too upsetting to re-read), but I think this time of year can be oddly silent. I like the quiet London streets -- although I was surprised to see three Chinese tourists walking along my suburban road this morning, carrying cameras (why Crouch End?).
The garden is dried out and wilting -- a sorry state after the glories of June and early July -- even though the skies have turned overcast. An invasion of mosquitoes has taken me by surprise; as did the discovery that I don't entirely like Nancy Mitford's 'Wigs on the Green' (very disconcerting to read a Mitford novel that doesn't delight).
I am fighting the urge to go to bed at quarter past nine -- surely too early for a grownup? But sleep seems far more appealing than the prospect of tidying my study.
Grey cloud and light rain forecast for tomorrow. At least the dull weather will provide no further temptation to abandon paperwork.
Oh dear, apologies for drab and dreary blog. By way of recompense, here are the things that have brightened up this week, aside from the flapjacks.
1. Tom Hollander in 'Rev'. (Hope this link works, for anyone who hasn't yet seen it).
2. The Shooting Party on Radio 4, from the novel by Isabel Colegate.
3. Pleasing new trousers from Gap.
4. Beatrix Potter's 'The Tale of Two Bad Mice'... I've just re-read my treasured childhood copy, complete with illustrations that form a mirror to the past, to the doll's house I shared with my sister; with such eerie symmetry that it seems almost as if they have fallen out of a dream.