Gawd 'elp us, I'm tired at the moment. Since returning from the Cambridge Folk Festival, I've been unable to lasso any decent shut-eye. I drop off okay, but then seem to slip into some kind of sleep limbo or purgatory. In this wretched hinterland, one can see restful sleep but not quite reach it. I spend the nights then like a bag-eyed Tantalus. Not conducive to productive days, let me tell you.
But at least it's Thursday, which means the torment is nearly at an end. And this weekend is one of those low pressure affairs that involves plenty of to-ing and fro-ing, but which cannot be said to be stressful. On Saturday I'm spiriting the missus away for a night in a hotel somewhere in London. I know where it is, obviously, but I'm keeping her on tenterhooks. And from there on Sunday morning we're off to The Globe for a matinee of Richard II.
That'll be done by 4pm, which leaves us the evening for gadding and larks. Thank the lord for that. I need larks.
Not the bird.
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