…”To be. Or not to be. That is the question. Whether it is nobler to be in the mind
or to… HAMLET CIGARS. NO POINT IN FINISHING.”
What a silly joke.
BBC1 and BBC2 went off air for two hours today when transmitters were
struck by lightning…”
As ever, I’m filling my diary with reflections on all the things that really matter.
…This morning I paid my first proper money into my bank account.
It was precisely £5.00, or rather five one pounds – or alternatively 10 50ps, or 20 25ps, or 20 25ps, or 50 10ps.
Or one five-pound note…
Summer was still as thrilling as ever, then.
…Tried to make a paper aeroplane that you could work by string but it ended up to
be another of those things in my bottomless rubbish bin…
Of all the things I mention in today’s entry of my diary, this is the most curious. Annoyingly, I don’t give any further explanation as to what I was trying to do with the plane. Nor why I was even bothering with such a blatant time-filling exercise. How would you even “work” a paper aeroplane with string? Isn’t the whole point that they fly unaided?
Three days into the school holiday and I was already embarking on tasks doomed for failure. At least I hadn’t yet resorted to going on trips to the council rubbish dump.
…This morning I had to practice my piano pieces because
I have my first lesson [after the summer] in a fortnight’s time.
Today was a typical British day.
Rain, rain, rain, rain and even more
rain, rain, rain.
Our pond got flooded but now it’s in danger
from wind, wind, wind and even more wind.
And so on.
Discovered that next week Star Trek and The Muppet Show
are back on TV…
That’s me and my priorities, right there. Piano, rain, telly.
And yes, I really did experience something of a frisson every time I saw an edition of Radio Times with the words NEW SEASON emblazoned diagonally across one corner.
…Finished my Adrian Mole book
Had chicken for lunch with potatoes, cabbage and carrots.
Boris Becker won the men’s singles at Wimbledon.
Played with Lego. It might sound babyish but it isn’t…
Quite right. Normally I feel obliged to follow these extracts with some kind of hasty defence or justification, but my 10-year-old self has rather kindly already done so. Thanks, er, me.