It wasn't until nine-thirty this morning that I realised I had my trousers on inside out. Perhaps at my age people just excuse this sort of thing as eccentricity.
I've had a lovely few days, hosting my friend C from the UK. We've known each other about eleven years and there is a great comfort and giggliness. There has been a fair amount of drink taken too, but mainly because I have discovered a bar not five minutes from me that is open all year. All day, all night, all year. They close for Christmas Day and New Years' Day, for which I will forgive them.
After Thursday's melodrama, having a good friend here has been a wonderful balm. I still feel the echo of a boot in my guts and the question "What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?" is not far from my ears. But having C here has been absolutely lovely and makes me think that if being wrong is this much fun I don't want to be right. Sort of thing.
On Sunday, we got up dreadfully late and, wandering out for some lunch, surprised a market on my local shopping street - a brocante. Loads of people selling whatever shite they could probably not shift on Ebay. In diagonal seeping rain I bought a heavy and old Anglepoise lamp for €25. I waited till it dried out (despite appearances, I'm not a fool) and tested it. It works! Am very happy with my ancient Anglepoise.