Sunday

Well whilst yesterday I successfully did something with my day, it is fair to say that today I have not.

I awoke stiffly at 9.15am completely unaware of anything. I flicked the radio on and listened to Sportsweek. Got to admire Gary Richardson. Like a terrier with his guests seeking the answers to the questions they don't want to answer. 10am The Archers. Ah the pure decadence of staying in bed with a cuppa and the radio. It got extended this morning as the guest on Desert Island Discs was Annie Lennox. My heroine. So at midday I finally extradited myself from the bed and trudged to the lounge. The sun through the closed blinds still filled the room with bright golden light. I watched the Grand Prix. Listened to the end of the Premiership for 07/08. More salad. Washing up.

I actually spent most of today arsing about with wma files and the mystery that is why they don't all work on any old device. Seems you have to convert DRM files to mp3. I hate technology. When it works it is totally brilliant - I mean thousands of songs on one device that is the size of a ciggy box. But when it doesn't work - you spend HOURS farting about on the web and downloading stuff to make other stuff work. I nearly burnt out the base of a pan whilst steaming potatoes and any hope I had of just sitting and reading my Ian McEwan book went right out the window. Hey ho. Now my Windows Media player is being an ass and my new portable radio - well it does podcasts, they are mp3 but none of my ripped DRM files. I give up.

As for Sunday pm TV. Forget it darlings - its an arid wasteland...

So. So that was the weekend that was. Quite quite dull. Too much time for introspection that's for sure. It dawns on me the reason I find it so difficult to be out loud with my thoughts is because I was always taught that children should be seen but not heard. I am yes now an adult but I never felt I had to shout or talk much to be noticed. If I kept focused and did my best the results would make people notice me. Now it's my curse. Far easier to write it down. Far easier to hid behind a brilliant page of words and grammar and punctuation. Far easier to believe that least said ... soonest mended. And when you have thought things through all the way, it probably is.

Safer.

Less damaging.