Half Full

I got my first parking ticket today.

I lost the new jumper I bought in the Fat Face sale in St Andrews. I retraced my steps but there was no sign of it.

I set off the house alarm when I got home and didn't work out how to fix it for a head-splitting, ear-stabbing 20 minutes. I'd been punching in the wrong code.

I accidentally ran a red light.

But.

But I had a good run this morning.

When I crossed the bridge the sun burst through the cloud and it was summer still.

Lunch was lovely, outside in the indian summer with cold beer, a dog and a great friend.

I walked the dog in the warmth, getting smiles and nods from approving pretty girls.

I sat again in the sun, again with a beer, again with the dog, again with my great friend, with apple trees dropping their heavy fruit around us and old palettes and wine crates as chairs.

I met with a couple of other old mates, got caught up, arranged future pints and retrieved, after almost a year, my prized set of global knives.

I bought a few bottles of brilliant wine, and confirmed a nice dinner for tomorrow night.

I baked cookies for dessert tonight, and had a fantastic wine to go with them.

So my glass is half full. More than half full. I've just topped it up.

Breathing Space

The cat sits on the window ledge, looking into the office when not looking out for prey. The cats hunting leads to contemplative distraction from all things. The garden outside the office shelters all manner of prey, real and imagined, and Bagel and Sam do their best to subsidise their diet. I think they're more succesful than they let on, and have seen Bagel coughing up the odd feather or two. They are my companions at the moment, which suits a romantic ideal: a mad writer and his cats, but does little for romance. Sometimes they remind me of ex-girlfriends. They still come back for a stroke and a cuddle, but shoot off as soon it suits them, leaving me sneezing and cursing my gullibility.

It's been a quiet few days. Playing catch up with all sorts of things, making good progress on the odd secret project. My first photo job went pretty well at the weekend. I felt nervous throughout; worried someone would pull back the curtain and reveal that I wasn't really the wizard of snaps, merely an elevated hobbyist. But I guess having a photo job makes you a photographer by default. The irony, of course, is that the person who got me the job is a much better photographer than I am. Which makes the choice of me as shutterbug a high compliment, one that I tried desperately to live up to, so much that I took nearly 600 pictures over the weekend. But it turned out ok. So it's been quiet, but a contented quiet.

Not quite abstract

We took the work hard/play hard philosophy to new limits this weekend - 5 am finishes followed by 9am starts. I'm tired but happy. There's a lot to do, and I could post more, but I think I'll have a cup of tea first. Then I ought to get myself organised, but really all I want to do is drink claret and listen to B.B. King's King of the Blues really loud.