Cut grass, got hot, got pissed off with attempts to convert seven books, professionally scanned into PDFs, into Kindles, did a vast and shitty chicken thing out of left overs and have had the car repairs delayed for a week. And, in a short while, more depression will arrive when a man with lots of expensive machinery will come to shake his head mournfully over the collapsing terrace. The solution must be a large slug of chilled wine which I will enjoy in the sunshine before the man arrives – if he arrives.
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