Wake up at 8:00. This is a shame, as we’d intended to wake up at 7:00. Get up, even. Breakfast. Last night I had terrible insomnia, so this morning I have terrible somnia.
There’s an email containing the most vexing alternative of all the possible alternatives that the recent computer kerfuffle threw up.
I set out at 9:00-ish with a package for the post office, however, when I get there, it’s not only closed, but there’s a giant crane parked outside, and a temporary fence built around it. Fairly assertively closed then. I just have to take the package with me.
Then it starts to rain.
Tube to Baron’s Court.
Ouspensky day at Colet House. Very interesting to discover more of the history of the house, and the groups that have worked in it. At lunchtime I go to Earl’s Court as there’s a post office over the road from the tube station. Sadly it’s a post office that closes slightly before I arrive. I’m given vague directions to another one that might be open (Fulham Road) but I know when I’m beaten.
Back at Colet House I have too much buffet. There’s a notion that one should stop eating while one is still hungry. I have difficulty stopping while there is still food in the house somewhere.
Afternoon very informative, and one speaker is very good indeed. The problem is that if I let my attention drop below a certain threshold the somnia takes over, and I wake up halfway through the sentence with no idea what’s going on.
There are questions after each talk. Actually, very few of them are questions.
Oh, and I’m sitting next to a man of astonishing boobiness. His record for stillness without major movement of some kind was three seconds. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been counting.
After that, the Movements demonstration, again very informative.
Tube home, stop on the way for fish and chips, which we eat when I get home.
Doctor Who: the world ends, and is then unended, as is often the way in this sort of thing. I enjoy it, though.
Evening chill with the TV several Greatest War Films and then the Rockumentary, tonight about Britpop and after. Oasis don’t annoy me now as much as they did ten years ago, but Noel Gallagher seems to have a slightly inflated impression of their importance, in cosmic terms.
I wonder if he ever succeeded in his ambition of living in a plasticene house?
Toast, and conversation until late.