M. woke me calling from his porch in NZ, on the other side of the clock 12 hour different, and quashed my hangover resolve to give up blog-a-yesterday for the day.
I was going to have a day off, but fibres stiffened by M.'s mockery and contempt for my feebleness in the shade of alcohol, laboured slowly into the morning remember-blogging the day before.
A good day not to do any damage in my studio and I realised the danger that this blog series would become a blog about blogging; along the lines of - what happened yesterday, mmm ... 'I wrote a blog about the day before.'
The mountaineer slept on and we breakfasted at noon.
He re-packed his fuming mound of ropes, wedges, harness, carabiners, nuts and screws and quickdraws and boots and shoes and chalk and bivi bag and guide books and camera and phone and wearing the cooler looking kit, shouldered it all, stuck helmet in a polybag and we headed out for his bus.
I pondered on which painting to donate to a charity auction in aid of the Pakistan flood victims. R. came through with the idea of giving one from our back catalogue as well.
J. the author HM, told me stories of spiritualists, then about the play she is co-authoring and of a loved old friend slipping into dementia.