Waking up to John Peel. It's wonderful to be back into a set routine. After all, it's only just less than a fortnight since going back at work after mid-winter break. Mind you, it already feels like a lifetime.
Phone conversation with Colin in Brixton. He's getting better and is in less pain. Still hasn't been round the CD shops to do the sales. And, as a mutual friend remarked, he can't possibly be back to full fitness if that is the case.
By 11am, there are rainbows in the living room. This means that the sun is now higher than I thought it would be and the prism in the window is working its magic.
I head off in an attempt to buy tickets for various arts events. Mostly, I am thwarted by sold out performances and booking opening dates. Previously, I would have felt hard done by. Now, it just feels like so what, there's plenty of other things to be doing.
However, I did go to Sadler's Wells for a matinée performance of Rimsky-Korsakov's The Golden Cockerel performed by the Royal Opera. Great music; well performed; lousy production. It's a pantomime for God's sake. OK it has satirical overtones. But to put them up front and to make them specifically Russian cuts across and limits the piece. Lots of people left in the interval.
However, there were stonking performances from Darina Takova as the Queen of Shemakha, Mikhail Agafonov as the Astrologer and Vladimir Matorin as Tsar Dodon. It was great to hear Russian sung idiomatically in a small(ish) theatre. It made a great difference. But, this won't go down as one of the great performances of the year.
Evening was with Ross spent quietly. We received some herbal remedies for Ross's muscle pains of the sort that is recommended by doctors but is, as yet, unavailable on the National Health.
We both slept soundly - me til 9am. Possibly this was the weed, possibly the (moderate) alcohol, possibly the (wonderful) sex or more likely simply sleeping with Rossi.
Sunday morning. Floating round the house in my tee-shirt (and that's all folks), light steaming everywhere, warm centrally heated air, beautiful music on the radio, bit on edge about trying to crowd to much into an overfilled day, the effects of the caffeine surging through my veins from the filtered coffee I had had earlier. Nevertheless, life felt good.
The brightness continued into the afternoon and, in celebration, Ross and I went for a brief walk at the Round Pond. It is higher and fuller than I have ever seen it. Which reminds me about the Thames on Saturday which was swollen with rain water and high tide. I have never seen the river so high. The pier at the South Bank was swamped and the steps by Cleopatra's needle were covered.
Along the Embankment, set in the river wall, are brass lion heads with rings through their mouths. I was told, many years ago, that there was a local saying that, if the lions were ever to drink, London would be flooded. Or, if the river got so high that it reached the lions, then there would be flooding. Well, it was that high on Saturday and the News was not filled with flooding stories. So, either the story was untrue or today's flood drains work better than those of yesteryear.
Later in the day Ross and I went to do a big shop at Tesco's, I did a little work in the garden in the gloaming between four and five and, this evening, Simon and Cathy are coming round so we can all watch videos together. Contentment.