mayday, mayday

So. That's the bank holiday weekend over then.

It was a quiet time in Baroque Towers, at least after the departure of the four 13-year-old girls on Saturday lunchtime. Quiet, except for the thousand coffees* Ms B found herself committed to with a variety of friends, one of whom had not been seen for many months. But Saturday afternoon was spent horizontal - Miss Pamela, are you there? You were so right! Six hours on the pink sofa, reading the entire Saturday Guardian, and (sorry guys) I can't remember any of it now (except that I saved a picture of Gerard Depardieu jumping; he's lost loads of weight, but even that, though he looks very happy, is immaterial to me. I have always loved him).

There was a long phone conversation with La Soeur Baroque: our dad is improving a bit but I think it's just how you look at it, really. A shorter one with Mama B. A long one with the hitherto-unseen friend, at whose studio I later ate mango and strawberries, and drank black coffee with cinnamon in it, for several hours.

I owe several people emails. If you, reading this, are one of those people, rest assured that I loved receiving your email, that my reply is half-written in my Drafts folder, and that I really will send it!

Today, a little writing, and then walked to Newington Green once it had stopped raining. Mlle B and her friends went to see the Spiderman movie and left halfway through: bored. The boys are in mushroom mode over at their father's.

Exciting isn't it!

There's a poetry reading tomorrow (Roddy Lumsden and Tim Wells) at a fun new bookshop in Waterloo (Crockatt & Powell, 119-120 Lower Marsh, 7pm, £3), with floor spots. But I doubt I'll be going. I was halfway through cooking my mussels in white wine and tomato sauce when the desperate lassitude came over me.

I think I'm really ready to move on to the next bit, now.

Bed, in a minute.

* Maybe not a thousand. Three, in one afternoon, though. And a glass of mineral water in a Thai restaurant. Yum, yum.