Nob 18, 2009


Rather rainy. Went into Baldock but failed to get any rose bushes. Bought a peony root which perhaps I can plant at the corner instead of a rose. Clarke’s say the shortage of grains, or the difficulty of sending them to & fro, is actually much greater than the papers make out. Saw a bird which I think must have been a golden plover, though so far as I know they are not found round here. Slightly larger than a snipe (it was certainly not a snipe), redshank type of flight, but its back was brownish. Too far away to see its beak. The only thing that makes me doubtful is that its belly was almost white.

George Orwell
Diary entry
November 18, 1939

Bum day. I have full strength, my wits about me, but I can't go to work because I don't want others to get the virus off me. My wife just discovered an old game in Facebook, Cafe World. I reactivated my account so we could play together. Still no leads on a new yaya. Maybe we've squeezed our network dry. The child, well what can be said of the child? She somehow learned yet another way to amuse herself at my expense. She'd offer me her bottle, say "Mik?" until I move to receive it from her. Then she'd withdraw it, say "ayawayaw" while flashing them mischievous teeth.

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