Please click the photo above to play the daily videoAlmost the weekend — that pleasant ante-room of a day where the week is nearly done and you can feel it loosening its grip. The morning arrived sunny, and stayed that way, the brightness holding steady from the first cup of coffee right through to the evening. There's a reliability to our weather here that the English would find almost suspicious; it simply gets on with being hot and doesn't make a performance of it.
Which is more than can be said for London at the moment. Irfan, back home with us now, has timed his return rather well — the reports from over there are of a proper heatwave, records tumbling, the kind of temperatures that send an entire country into a quiet panic about whether the trains will run. There's a particular comedy, watching from this side of the world, in a place so thoroughly undone by a fortnight of sunshine we'd consider unremarkable. I'm glad he's here and not melting on a stationary platform somewhere, fanning himself with a newspaper and muttering about it. He chose the right time to come home.
Clinic, for once, behaved itself. Smooth from start to finish, and — small miracle — it actually finished on time, that rarest of professional pleasures. I've learned to be slightly distrustful of a session that runs to schedule, as though the day is merely saving its complications for later. But none came. I got away clean, and home early, with the evening laid out ahead of me like an unexpected gift.
I joined Anita at Mid Valley for a quick dinner — nothing elaborate, just the easy convenience of meeting in the middle of things and eating without ceremony. There's a comfort in the ordinary outing, the familiar walk through familiar crowds, dinner that asks nothing more than to be pleasant and brief. It was both.
And then, home, I made the mistake of sitting down. I can feel a cold gathering somewhere behind the eyes — that faint, prickling premonition of being properly unwell in a day or two — and the body, sensing weakness, took its chance. I sat in front of the television fully intending to watch something, and instead surrendered almost immediately to the most undignified sort of evening sleep: chin dropping, the programme carrying on without me, waking with that disoriented jolt to find an hour gone and no memory of any of it.
So Star City remains unwatched. I've been meaning to start it for days now — the For All Mankind spin-off, all alternate history and cosmonauts, exactly my sort of thing — and yet every evening it patiently waits while I find some new way to be too tired for it. Tonight the cold made the decision for me. The episode will keep. It isn't going anywhere, and frankly neither am I.
A good enough day to end the week on. Sunny, on time, early home — and undone, in the gentlest possible way, by a sofa and an oncoming sniffle.