Rainy Day Eating

Discovered tiny mice eating the black sunflower seeds out of the bird feeder, which is why the Kookster is paying this so much attention. I am now breeding mice. This weather is boring me to the kitchen, to overeat. So dull. Ideas for exhibition title: 'Unconsidered Trifles', Private View, At Home, My Stuff. I have been persuaded against the outsider idea, as artists think this is a bad label and not one to pursue. Oh well. To try and discourage myself from eating sweet stuff made some more relish with olives, capers, garlic, black pepper, lemon zest, anchovies in oil, and this time, spicy sardines in olive oil, with some cinnamon and paprika, whizzed up in the Magimix. Tastes OK. Perhaps I should call it Ladies' Relish. Did some more drab sketches today which I may snap tomorrow.

More sketches

Still Dull Outside

Coffee, then lunch at Mamuska. This time I had the healthy option. This was a large salad, with Iceberg lettuce, peppers and tomato with cubes of chicken on top and a little sprinkling of mayo, for £5. Very good. I noticed there are all kinds of drinks, including fruit and beetroot juices, for £1 each. Dorothy may be going to Vienna for a few days today. I hope the weather is better there. Here's some more scraps from the sketchbook:

Mayday Morning

May morning was a lovely time in Oxford in 1963. Jeremy and I rose very early to hear a choir singing, and later, Morris Dancers and breakfast in the market. The blossom was out, and we felt very excited. Pissing with rain outside this morning. Mais, ou sont les sodding neiges d'antan? That's what I'd bloody like to know. Today is total shit. Nevertheless, for the sake of my happy and carefree youthful past, I shall force myself out for May morning, to tread slowly and feebly to the Elephant & Castle shopping centre in pursuit of a daily paper and a cheap coffee in Mamuska. Self-pity rant over.

Dryden

'The first physicians by debauch were made; Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food; Toil strung the nerves and purifyed the blood; But we their sons, a pampered race of men, Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. Better to hunt in fields for health unbought, Than fee the Doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise for cure on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.' Dorothy has taken to walking a great deal. All around London wherever possible. I read the above in 'Days with Sir Roger de Coverley' by Addison and Steele from the Spectator.

Against Exhibitions

Seemingly, Paschal, in his discourse on the misery of man, says that all our endeavours after greatness proceed from nothing but a desire to be surrounded by a multitude of people and affairs that may hinder us from looking into ourselves, which we cannot bear. Hmmm.....

Jam session at Toulouse-Lautrec

Alice wanted to see me again, so I decided to use a Groupon voucher and take her to the jam session on Monday. Alice had many woes, but recovered after a coffee and some cantuccini, put some slap on and we sallied forth. Mercifully the continuous rain had ceased while we walked to the Toulouse-Lautrec. Once installed we were given a mini bottle of champagne each, which helped us to get into a suitable mood for the night. The house band, with a couple of guest artistes, played very competently. We rather over-ordered on the food front with two boards, one laden with fish and seafood and the other with cheeses. So much for the diet. The place filled up, and excitement mounted by the time the jam session really got underway, around tennish. Several very good musicians got up and acquitted themselves well and we really enjoyed ourselves. I think Monday night is the best night at this venue, and we decided to go again and perhaps eat less and drink more. I arrived home at around 12.30 and more or less fell straight into bed. Rudely awoken at 1.30 by the Kookster, coming through the catflap with very strange noisy miaouling. Put the light on to discover him tormenting a baby mouse. Chased them all around the room but couldn't catch either. He picked up the poor little thing and I chased him downstairs where he disappeared outside again and I fell back into bed again. Such a swine, that cat. Woke me at around 6am, the bastard.