Thursday. OK, keep it short, keep it coherent (at least reasonably coherent), we've had a good night's sleep (to bed early and awakening the usual half hour before the alarm) and we've had a nice walk to breakfast, taken a picture of another (of but two) pandorea flowers while leaving the café and then returning home (on a conveniently passing bus) in reasonably good fettle.
To wrestle with yesterday's mess before posting.
We are, I'm afraid, but a one note horn player marching in our one man band playing a “woe to the writing” song each and every morning.
By adding one or more notes or by putting the horn away in its case and turning on the television? These decisions can take years (from what we're seeing).
Later. Out the door at ten to take the bus to Latham Square and shoot another set of pictures, these being enough to finish another section for the web sites. A walk then to the 20th Street stop on Broadway, taking a picture of what they've doing with the old Sears building, at least the exterior portions they're working to replace. Our excitement quotient for the day, I'm afraid, this overcast day, but at least the temperature is nice. (The humidity could be lower, but best not to complain. Not out loud. Too out loud.)
A bus at 20th to the apartment house construction site and another set of pictures. We'll get to the apartment house web sections a little later where we're still, well, many weeks behind.
Evening. We seem to have sputtered out here around mid-afternoon, probably for the best. A decent afternoon, even if it's looked like all of the recent afternoons, decent or otherwise. Watched Inspector Lewis at eight, although I'd seen the thing before. Habit, I guess. And the Vera that followed at nine-thirty, getting to bed at eleven. We babble on about getting to bed early, getting to bed late, but seem to just wander along as we wish without paying any attention. Maybe to the good, ignoring all the background babble.