grunt in a good morningy sort of way

Up at 7:00, downstairs to the loo, grunt in a good morningy sort of way to Sally who’s up, then return to bed for a couple of hours.
Get up. Breakfast: coffee and toast, chatting to Ben, Sally and June, meet goats, then go to visit Helen C (Ben’s mum), who lives down the road. Her house is full of artefacts that I last saw twenty-five years ago in Long Crendon. Catch-up, then off to a pub for lunch (sandwiches). The pub is keen on dogs, but has banned mobile phones. That sort of place. Then get a lift to the station, where I arrive just in time to catch the next train.
On the journey back I listen to the talk from last night, relieved at the quality of the recording.
Get home, do some bits and pieces that have piled up in the last day, receive a call telling me I’m to go into Walker next week (I thought it was the week after, for some reason), transfer the video and audio from Cambridge and go out for a run.
This is along the South Bank, possibly a mistake as tourist season isn’t really over, and there’s also the just-out-of-work crowd. I don’t actually hit anyone, but it’s close.
Home, do some retouching to the sound recording, shower (yes, sorry, I got distracted in my sweatiness), then do more retouching. Then go and get pizza (it’s been quite an out-of-control week consumption-wise) and watch Dodgeball. I knew it was going to be stupid, but it’s also one of the most puerile films I think I’ve seen for a while. But quite endearing in its puerility.
On Newsnight, Kirsty Walk is interviewing Donald Rumsfeld, which is quite an odd thing to do. A rational person would beat him over the head with something.