At least by recent standards, this has been (and will remain) a very uneventful week. But one can still take notes about it. Clare, indeed, can take notes about almost anything, a phenomenon I have been observing for more than a quarter of a century now. Note both the writing and the pointing hand: the information is being processed even at the moment of its creation…
Look, it’s got my name on it (on the pink bit), my handwriting and everything. The ideas were those of everyone around the table however, and things are not yet finished, either. I can occasionally still be motivated to think about things that matter to my employer — and thus my students — rather than me personally.
I don’t yet know what I’m trying to say with this picture — it may be just a random gesture on her part. Nor am I projecting, being quite happy today. I like it anyway.
Clare has her daily fix of brain food, but though this particular game is on her phone, she brings it up for my entertainment. I get most of them first go, to be honest. This one’s easy: we were there, not three months ago.
Another day when there wasn’t a great deal to do except spy on the neighbours: but I did like the shapes her hands were making.
Conversation between me and the First Wife this afternoon…. “What are you up to?” “I’m sorting out my life.”
Well, who am I to argue. The dots mean something, apparently. Don’t ask me what.
Being 42 