I shall only briefly mention that we went to Windsor today. I may write more tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow. Just a warning - I took over a hundred photos...
We got home at about six o'clock. As we approached home, he said he'd park up and we'd go in Wetherspoons (I'd been salivating for a time about having a cider). But as we got very near home, I realised that what I wanted more than anything was a Nice Cup of Tea (hot and strong, like my men, er, man).
One thing led to another (oo er missus). I moved onto the Pimms, he moved onto the whiskey. It seemed to make perfect sense to recline in the garden.
My job is entertainment manager. This is in addition to being whore in the kitchen, chef in the bedroom. Something relaxing, he commanded. I put on Classical Chillout. Which is perhaps a little too mellow for a Saturday night. The nice new Aussies next-door-but-one were having a house warming, but civilised and moderately quiet, barbecue. We were invited, which was nice, but we decided not to go. The RA chair was having a party on the next road. We weren't invited - not really surprising, we are not RA people, really.
He wanted something lively, so I put on School Disco End of Term Party, fast forwarding through the crap ones. What fun I had singing along to Rupert the Bear, hamming it up to I've Never Been To Me, and reviving my wannabe-Clare Grogan (didn't everybody, back then?) act to I Could Be Happy. Even more fun hearing neighbours diverse singing along and discussing various tracks.
It was a good end to a school disco - I'll Find My Way Home, Love Is In The Air
and Last Christmas. Yes, that's right, Last Christmas. And, indeed, why not?
Himself said - you've awoken the passions of the Colombians and the Portuguese. What next?
There can only be one follow up - the sheer utter eroticism of Germany. I lack an entire Tristan und Isolde, so had to compromise with merely the Love Duet, which is almost certainly the most orgasmic music in my collection.
I don't think I've ever before lain out in the back garden, flat on my back on the Sit'n'Sleep, sipping Pimms and Lemonade, watching the sky darken and seeing the stars come out (in London? Stars?) whilst feeling entirely relaxed and perhaps even comforted by the chatter from the neighbouring gardens.
There's a film in post-production of Tristan and Isolde, but not Wagner's opera (which Leonard Bernstein believed to be the greatest work of art ever).
