Day sixteen – FFS

Yes, that’s FFS (for fuck sake), not SFSS (stupid fucking spider solitaire). There’s been none of the latter, I’m pleased to say, but there were two hours of Scrabble on Tuesday, which should not have happened.

Lights out at 1:30am this morning, with alarm set for 9:30am. Woke up at 11:50am with the radio playing. What the fuck?

Now I have no time to write because my friend Darryl is arriving this afternoon and I have a lot of housework to do before he gets here. Gah.

And, yes, before you point it out, I know I didn’t write anything yesterday. That’s because, as soon as I got up I started working on my contract and kept going all day. Actual paid hours. You can see the priority. I did have an entry planned for today, but that’s gone out the window (where I think perhaps the alarm should go). Perhaps tomorrow.

I’ll throw in an extra black and white photo to make up for today’s brevity.

One of my favourite Soho pubs. Once got quite pissed here with Terry Milewski. After a six-week stint covering Israel (the office he’d earlier established for the CBC), he was doing holiday cover of the London office. He was really hoping the Queen Mum didn’t pop her clogs while he was there, as, after six weeks in the Middle East, he would not be able to treat her death as seriously and with the solemnity the CBC would demand. (She didn’t.)