Well, the theme for today is prose, and like the man who discovered to his surprise that he’d been speaking prose all his life, yesterday I discovered I’d been writing prose all day. It started with a couple of facebook updates and then an email to Arriva complaining about the buses (the 104 ALWAYS leaves early in the evening); then I wrote a draft letter to the Bishop (don’t ask) followed by some comments in my diary.
We then spent a good half-hour lying on our backs in the park (Mark had jogged once round the perimeter before deciding he was out of practice) and watching the clouds. If you want to forget the world and its problems I thoroughly recommend lying on your back and watching the clouds. Yesterday there were thick white ones piled high like Douglas Hurd’s hair; pale filigree ones twisting like delicate vases in the high-up winds; low grey ones passing quickly on the horizon – and then a black form crept underneath everything like a Dementor coming for Harry Potter – and like Harry and Dudley we had to run. Mark just about rescued the washing before the heavens opened on us, though Daniel wasn’t so lucky and returned from a trip to Tesco’s sopping wet and furious.
It’s Mark’s birthday today. I have given him a Chris Conway CD:
which was delivered personally by the artist (thanks Chris) and as part of the celebrations we shall be going to Mirch Masala where I will almost certainly have a thali.