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Nov. 30th, 2003 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
liadnanI'm sitting in the basement of the Virgin Megastore on Oxford Street, failing to check my email because once again the web access is buggered, wandering aimlessly through livejournal, and listening to the Pet Shop Boys Can you forgive her?. Hurrah.
For the first time in ages I haven't had to go into the office this weekend, and nor have I had anything else to do. So I've been trying to do something, yet again, about the mound of metaphorical and literal detritus on which the facade of my life is constructed. I doubt that I really made any substantial progess, but I feel as though I did, which is the main thing. Other than that, the usual, drinking, reading, and watching television. Oh and going out with Dr H and Steph on Thursday and drinking far too heavily for a school night. Again.
Actually, I did also go and see the Lloyd-Webber PRB collection at the RA with (and courtesy of) K, but that deserves a post of its own, and may even get one someday.
The cat who lives in one of the flats upstairs becomes ever more demanding. Most of the time he spends his hours either wandering the common hallways mewing piteously and demanfding to be put out,or sitting outside the front door, mewing piteously and demanding to be let in. Now, however, whenever he wearies of this he wanders into my flat, the door of which is usually ajar when I am in, and starts exploring. I must have forgotten to close and lock the door properly when I went to bed last night (not too surprising, as I also appear to have made a significant dent in my supply of port) for I woke up this morning to find him sitting on my bedroom windowsill, at the back of the house, looking out with amused contempt at the siamese wandering along the garden wall.
I suppose it makes up for the fact the squirrels are gone for the present. I used to lie there for ages in the mornings, watching them run around manicly in the trees.
For the first time in ages I haven't had to go into the office this weekend, and nor have I had anything else to do. So I've been trying to do something, yet again, about the mound of metaphorical and literal detritus on which the facade of my life is constructed. I doubt that I really made any substantial progess, but I feel as though I did, which is the main thing. Other than that, the usual, drinking, reading, and watching television. Oh and going out with Dr H and Steph on Thursday and drinking far too heavily for a school night. Again.
Actually, I did also go and see the Lloyd-Webber PRB collection at the RA with (and courtesy of) K, but that deserves a post of its own, and may even get one someday.
The cat who lives in one of the flats upstairs becomes ever more demanding. Most of the time he spends his hours either wandering the common hallways mewing piteously and demanfding to be put out,or sitting outside the front door, mewing piteously and demanding to be let in. Now, however, whenever he wearies of this he wanders into my flat, the door of which is usually ajar when I am in, and starts exploring. I must have forgotten to close and lock the door properly when I went to bed last night (not too surprising, as I also appear to have made a significant dent in my supply of port) for I woke up this morning to find him sitting on my bedroom windowsill, at the back of the house, looking out with amused contempt at the siamese wandering along the garden wall.
I suppose it makes up for the fact the squirrels are gone for the present. I used to lie there for ages in the mornings, watching them run around manicly in the trees.
