So To Bed, He Said
Tuesday. The Inspector Lewis series runs, starting at nine on Monday nights, so I watched the thing knowing I'd seen it recently, but with no idea who'd done it until the very end. Again. I remembered each scene as it played, but had no recollection of who'd done it until it was revealed. I was playing along on the guitar and not paying quite the attention I might have otherwise, but still. Not a clue?
Everyone knows about you and a clue.
Now, now. To bed at ten-thirty, though, playing with late night fire. Up this morning at six-thirty, some forty-five minutes after the alarm, fairly clear headed and such, but we'll see how it goes after a nap. A nap yesterday morning lasting an hour after a lot of sleep, we'll see if a nap this morning keeps us similarly on track.
To breakfast and back on an overcast morning having to hurry through the papers noting, as I was leaving, the pandorea vine has managed a new flower (actually three) after not a one over these last several weeks. Good for the pandorea vine, also good for starting again with an interminable string of unimaginative pictures for the next several weeks. No complaints.
Later. A bit slow, but still a decent day. A nap and then another nap with a short guitar session in between, my lesson coming up later this afternoon.
A walk to the usual place for lunch (a BLT, ice cream and lemonade) out in the sun on the patio, a walk then back to the apartment to prepare for the lesson. Another run through one or two of the chords, pack the guitar and head out the door. Must be a Tuesday.
Later still. Well, I came, I played, I stumbled. Such is life with the guitar. Still, my long suffering teacher didn't bat an eye, we went over the song in segments and I'm to master at least one of them by next week's lesson. Master as in play the chords one after another faster than a crawl without doing damage to the sensibility of the craft or the ears. We shall persevere.
We'll take the rest of the day as it comes, try to get to bed at a decent hour, start again tomorrow.
Evening. A Maigret I've seen before but of course didn't remember the ending. Or much of the middle, come to think of it. Still. Cut out to the Korean soap with its improbable story line (so many conveniently overheard conversations, so many lies that lead to trouble, so much anguish over somethings), but cut back just in time to find out who'd knifed the victim in Maigret. Another strange story line even if it was somehow more satisfying.
Nothing to keep me up at nine and so to bed, he said.