remains to be seen

 This morning early returned the artist to the house in which he has his home, leaving the car parked in front of the door and him thanking me for having driven him home. The walk to the flat in the shop was no problem at all, it is maybe two hundred and fifty metres. The cat was there, her greeting a request for a snack of catfood. Read the news, and play the Wordle, all forgotten in Fridays oblivion.

This morning the cat was complaining, begging for more small snacks. Get up, serve the cat and make coffee and toast. After altogether six hours of sleep do not feel in the slightest well. Read the news, read about the fifteen per cent tariffs on everything. The man must be stupid. 

Read about people abusing their right to privacy to abuse others, those others all somewhere between being unable to defend themselves and having no tenable option to do so. The world is not a good place, and there is no clear analysis of the problems available. 

Go back to bed, and stay there until midday. The cat is now making a fuss again. Go upstairs and have a shower, the cat follows. She is unable to open tins, so it is good to stay in the neighbourhood of her two legged tin opener.

Downstairs, settle down to write these notes.

Leave the cat upstairs.

The plan for the day is to paint the wooden pedestal for the small sculptures in the artists studio. It is unclear whether or not the paint will hold, this remains to be seen.