The Sound of Silence

Since my lack of bloggin' in the last few weeks, I am reminded of a small Columbian woman, half hidden by a guitar, sitting on my one time lawn singing Simon and Garfunkel songs round an improvised bonfire the day after Tony Blair came to power. House warmings don't come much warmer. Which reminds that we are trying to agree on the style of front door we want as the one we inherited when we moved to leafy Hilly Fields (or should that be hilly leafy fields - both re accurate) is a bit warped and not exactly the best for insulation and heat retention. The work we did getting a new boiler put in by the estimable Mr Chong is evaporating before our eyes (that is if we happened to infra red thermoscopic ones like in the film Predator). Colliding in a meaningful way with one's partner is a skill hard learnt. Collisions of course happen on a regular basis - the 3am "Your turn", the 8am "I'm going to work, I suggest you look after the kids", the 7pm "you bath, I read". But to find time when both parties are a) awake, b) unencumbered by kids, c) unencumbered by wanting desperately to be in bed and get some sleep before the kids are awake, d) unenhanced by red wine, is tricky.

... and I saw Glenda Jackson in Tescos on Saturday.