good times bad names

Last night was a long evening that turned into an early morning discussing things in the artist's studio, watching him work and get on with his work. The work adding to the pictures on the cover of the boxes containing the small pieces was done smoothly and quickly. The only work in the evening was the simple job sweeping up the wood shavings from the floor. Now they no longer  crunched unpleasantly underfoot. In a way, this is satisfactory.

This morning failed to happen really. Spent time lying in the small upstairs room listening to the rain  come down outside, sometimes as a downpour and sometimes just as a drizzle. The plants outside are growing very well, even the hops have reached up almost under the roof. That is almost seven metres. The honeysuckle is going wild, it is really well established. 

Go downstairs for coffee, on the way hear the doorbell sound. Open the front door and there is the postman with a package in his hand. He does not want to leave it at the door because it is raining.  Such a good postman.

Make coffee and consider what needs to be done next.

Listen to the radio.

It is all most enjoyable in its way, but there is nothing moving. The rain outside is a welcome excuse for not leaving the house.

Look up the path to tomorrows gig in a place called Beer Paradise when you translate it. That is an awful sounding name.