Although I ought to be getting better, I do almost nothing today. I realise that I really might not be up to the gig when I look at the clock on the telephone and don’t have enough energy to reset it (the clocks went forward … or back … anyway it’s Officially Autumn). If I can’t get it together to press a few buttons, then whither The Man From Delmonte? Not to mention all those standards I was supposed to play (long story and it won’t happen now, so…)
There was, apparantly, a gale this morning. Great piles of leaves litter the pavement, which must make it difficult for the cyclists. A couple of trees and a telephone junction box blown down down the road, and a whole branch came down on the Blackwells’ sign, shattering it.
But is there some kind of linguistic distinction between “better” (which I don’t think I am) and merely “differently ill” (which I do)?