The highlight of the weekend was of course this:
Mr Andrew Johnson, Saturday lunchtime, signalling the fact that Everton were now three goals to the good against deadly rivals Liverpool. Hurray. I thought of how Dad would've enjoyed it. Embittered by many an unjust defeat down the years, he'd've been staggered by the fact that, for once, we had all the luck.
Friday, had lunch in Stokey with my good friend L. We sat outside Fresh and Wild eating overpriced food and having a good old moan about everything. Marvellous.
Yesterday, went en famille to the park, sat on the grass in the rose garden drinking tea and watching Buzz roll about. Oh yes. He's six months now and is acquiring new superpowers. Others include pursing his lips so's to look mildly scandalised/titillated, and sitting up unaided (for half a minute).
And there's the show of course. Never has a play seemed quite so far from me in rehearsal, but I'm ever so slowly getting over this thing (whatever it is), so I'll be able to get down to the Playhouse for opening night (tomorrow) if not before. Not been out in the evening since the Miniaturists, three weeks past. But then if I'm tempted to feel sorry for myself I remember B hasn't been out for an evening without Buzz for his entire life.