(no subject)

This is one of those it-doesn't-matter-how-much-I-do-nothing-is-achieved days. All I've managed to complete is most of the cooking for tonight. The cleaning is yet to happen and it can't happen until I finish some of the work-tasks that must be done today. I only have one book that I must read, and then I have follow-up to do on it. Not a lot of work. A few hours at most. And yet it stubbornly refuses to get done. Often, when this happens, it's because there's weather on the way. I need to look at the radar.

There is weather. I don't know if it's on the way or hovering on the fringe of my reach, dragging me into daft paths. I suspect that when it hits or moves away (when it makes up its mind) I'll assess today quite differently. Those hours that seem to have been working but wasted time might add up to clearing the decks for solid work. Or I might simply have lost a few hours to wittering and washing dishes, which happens.

No more houseish things until 3 pm. I must finish that book and check where I'm up to on that chapter I'm writing. I want a draft of that chapter by Monday, regardless of weather.

(no subject)

I just had the loveliest dinner party. We all ate too much and I did something I seldom do and brought out my liqueurs. That's three times in a year - I am getting less precious about them. We tasted medlar and ginger, unbletted medlar, bullace and dark cherry. None of them were half bad. I might have to drink my own productions more often.