Up reasonably early for S. Get to him about 10:30 and make some progress in the sunshine, but I still think with tomorrow abandoned we are leaving ourselves too much work to do. He does well, but not exceptionally so. The problem is that we will have to decide by Tuesday whether to go for his test or not, and we'll only have 3 more hours between now and then.
When I get home great things are happening. The £5 IKEA sofa has been destroyed and awaits it's transport to High Heavens. Less happily, the old Victorian sideboard, which has done nothing to offend anyone in all it's time on the planet, served Monty Armes for who knows, fifty years, was today condemmed, and destroyed in the blink of an eye, with a bit too much glee by Dan, Emsy, and Max from next door. It was a wonderfully made piece of furniture. not pretty in any way, but had a worthy air to it, and deserved better than this. I am glad I was not their when sentence was passed.
I have to confess with all the activity going on around me, I do not cover myself in glory, slumping down on the couch and watching a typically dull England rugby team struggle to overcome Italy, an undeserved victory.
I finally rise and cook roast. Two joints; lamb, which I may at last be coming round to, and the traditional chicken. Excellent. No sherry available so made a large pastis which went to places sherry never gets to.
After the traditional row over who is going to clear it all up it's back to gawping at the telly. When I awake everyone else has gone and I lurch unsteadily downstairs. Another weekend in my life gone by with very little achieved.
A call from Malcolm cheers me up. I had missed the fact that on their commemoration of Munich, the scumbags were beaten at home by Man City. priceless!
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