Thursday the 13th

Slow start, alarm at 6.30 but didn’t drag the corpse from the bed till 7.30. Sat for breakfast on the floor, back against the warm radiator, which is another guaranteed way to avoid doing anything active. In fact I became engrossed in Brian Eno’s A Year With Swollen Appendices, which is a not uncommon occurence. One of the books I keep returning to year in, year out, for its combination of stimulating thought, stretching my meagre intellect, and pure joie de vivre.

Not much joie de vivre when I went aloft to the office and tried out the new cordless headphones I received yesterday, necessitating much repositioning of power cables for the transmitter, which in turn seemed to destroy my hifi, so there’s not much point in having headphones after all. Grump.


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