Tuesday Morning

Coffee with David again. He had spent a good weekend visiting the East End and enjoying the unusual sunshine. Looking very tanned. Met with Julian briefly and we had a tea and sat in the garden for a short while, Julian picking a couple of handfuls of the blackberries which are ripening, and we shared these. After lunch I decided to force myself towards the War Museum. Sat in the shade and attempted a sketch, which did not go all that well, but buildings are always a bit of a challenge to me. And foliage, etc etc. On the way back I walked down Gladstone Street, envious of the pretty cottages there. Oh well. Since I can't afford the upkeep on this flat, quite apart from the capital outlay for one of these, it is probably just as well that I don't own one. They are very pretty though, and with Colnbrook Street, the houses are the nicest around here. Apart from the very good Georgian houses in St. George's Road and the very pretty West Square and surrounds. Had an email from an old friend, inviting me to stay in the country and very kindly offering me the rail fare. Though I would love to go, I somehow can't tear myself away. And there's the usual Kookster problem, now worse since the separation of Julian and Dorothy. Finances are dire, and of course Romy's kind suggestion of wandering about a building in Greenwich for £50 for a day was totally oversubscribed, naturally. My upstairs neighbour told me that friends had cats which needed feeding, so I rushed around, only to discover that they had already booked with CDPOM. If Lye Torng was not closing imminently, I should offer to do their cleaning, though those who have visited my house will know that cleaning is hardly my forte, so I have to pay someone to do my floors once a fortnight. My reader will remember that in the past I attempted to donate my body for medical science in order to avoid paying for a funeral, but this turned out to be so convoluted, depending on where and when I actually died, and involving body removal costs etc. that I gave up. Seems I can't sell myself alive or dead. Well, at least the sun is shining outside. Reading the above makes me giggle, thinking of my last husband, who always said that I should engage in yellow journalism - he said if I described a party we had both attended to friends, he did not recognise it, with all my exaggerations. Well I shall just go into the garden and pick the stinging nettles to make some soup for later, and finish framing my sketches. Cheerio!