Liadnan

Even though I tend to think that messing about with time and engaging in a mass pretence that it's an hour later than it really is on the Greenwich Meridian for half of every year is pure foolishness (look, just get up earlier, or later, or whatever) even I have to confess that when it's still genuinely light by the time I set off home my spirits are lifted.

And, sitting here in the library (1843 Vick Gothic), there's a gorgeous wash of golden light pouring down the room and reflecting off the bookcases. Marvellous.

I love the Lightning Seeds and have been listening to them all morning because they invariably make me think of spring and summer, but I have never quite managed to understand what exactly this lyric is getting at.

Gah. I hate having to work on bank holidays. Thursday afternoon they brief me that they need a case summary in a heinously complex fraud case to be filed in the High Court by 4PM on Wednesday. No one has written it, and since I'm the cheapest barrister who has previously worked on the case, would I mind having a copy on everyone else's desk by close of play on Tuesday...

Well, I'm off, for almost a week. Spent most of today sitting on the leads outside my office reading Diana Wynne Jones, and having a small G&T: the liberty of having nothing to do right at the moment because you've been organised enough to get rid of it all already. Off out to celebrate. Tomorrow I shall mostly be sitting around in Primrose Hill and being bohemian. Hurrah.