Posted by Tania Kindersley.
Long day, so too tired for much. Many words were written, which was the good thing.
The rain has blasted down since dawn, like a tropical monsoon out of low black skies. It is rather dramatic. I keep thinking: good for the garden. There is almost nothing I love more than listening to the rain drumming on the window panes when I know I do not have to go out into it.
I listened to Mozart and ate a smoked salmon sandwich for lunch. (The salmon was on special offer in the Co-op; I can see why, it was not awfully good, even with lots of black pepper and lemon juice.) I am now contemplating doing something interesting with prawns for my supper.
I know I should have a firm opinion on the News of the World telephone tapping scandal, but I do not. I keep thinking: it's the News of the World, why is everyone acting as if they are shocked, shocked, to find that there is gambling going on in this establishment. They are all Peter Lorres to me.
I leave you with some entirely gratuitous dog photographs, because I suppose one can't go breaking the habit of a lifetime:
Do look at the wistfulness.
Distinctly unimpressed with the weather.
May we have our biscuits now, please:
On days like today, I am glad that I have a whole cache of photographs taken when the sun was shining, like Sebastian Flyte's pot of gold, the one he planned to go and dig up from every place where he had once been happy. I like to remember what it looked like. (Oh that was a rotten sentence, but you know what I mean. I have been thinking a lot about Evelyn Waugh lately.)
So even when it is at its most dreich, I still may have sunshine and roses: