He dreamed of cheese, toasted mostly, if my memory deceives me not. I had a yearning too, and promptly gave in to it, with toasted cheese, soup and a glass of sherry for lunch.
I didn’t get down to the pub today. It was after 1 o’clock when I left the church. We had spent some time searching for the silk poppies that assist the flower arrangements for Remembrance Sunday. After clambering awkwardly through the hatch into the attic, looking in the bier shed and all cupboards, I finally spotted them. In a vase, on a windowsill, behind a drawn curtain. Oh.
I arrived home to find a note from the Sage. He is out, making business calls. A self-employed person is never off duty, even for Sunday lunchtime. So, a snack lunch and a look in the paper to see what is on television. Oh. I glanced through the satellite channels, to make sure that I was not missing anything by not subscribing to them. I am not.
So, the Sunday papers and some music it will be, then. Mozart (and Süssmeyer)s’ Requiem, to start with, to soothe and uplift. Not that I vastly need it, but I hate that sodding loft ladder.
No, I will not think of it again. Requiem eternam, instead.