Narcissus

The narcissi I got from the supermarket the other day are nowhere near as durable as the daffodils I got the previous week. I guess that's the price you risk you take with random £1 bunches of flowers (from the Scilly Isles, I guess). Some good, some not so good. We have a lot of half dead flowers on the table at the moment, but I'm afraid that Mr A won't let me chuck them away, arguing that he likes blipping them.

I was slow to get moving on Tuesday, but when I finally did, it was a reasonable day, mostly spent tussling with dual citizenship. I've managed to reconcile myself to the fact that progress in writing is slower than it was when I was writing the book last summer. Those were exceptional times. These are too, in a different way. My current rate of progress is more like it was before the book, which is fine.

At lunchtime I did a zoom class with Projekt 42 (the first time I had used zoom during the Coronacrisis, although I've used it previously before it was popular), then 30 minutes on the exercise bike. I didn't venture out, except to deposit some recycling downstairs.

In the evening (after a dinner of fish thai curry), we watched the BBC, etc. adaptation of Macbeth with Patrick Stewart. We both agreed the acting was brilliant, but Mr A was less keen than me on the staging in an unnamed European country, perhaps Romania, during a military dictatorship. Then straight to bed, almost to finish Circe.

All this culture!