Auditor in the office. Turned out to be a middle-aged chap who had just started learning the cello, having taken his grade 8 piano many years ago. He keeps his cello behind his desk at his office, and opens up in the evenings and weekends to practise. Such devotion. Accountants really can be interesting.
Dorothy thinks I should sell the flat in Barcelona rather than try and sell my flat here. I am inclined to tidy up the place a bit and put this place on the market as soon as possible, since it seems that neither of us will be able to pay the mortgage soon. I know it would probably be sensible to look for a little hovel locally, but I am inclined to go to Devon, finally. We shall see.
I am slowly recovering from the recent ghastly meeting, but I don't think I can stand the place much longer. The trustees, anyway. The job itself is fine.
Caught up with two old friends, which for some unaccountable reason made me ring my old art school friend. I had fallen out with him about six years ago when he sent me a very nasty email. The other day I decided that I had recovered from this unpleasant action, which had been uncharacteristic of him, so I rang him. We were both fairly cautious, but I was glad to hear he was doing well, and we agreed to keep in touch by phone again, at least. We shall see.
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