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It's getting dark early again; autumn curling around the house. The last of the tomatoes have come from the vines, what's left there won't ripen now although there are still a few lettuces making a valiant effort.

Early morning darkness, with coffee and last night's washing up. A cat curled up on a box of books in a comfortable solemnity of repose. We're slowly re-decorating the book room, so the books are now in boxes decorating the rest of the house. A child next door is unhappy about something and the kitten is mewing upstairs as he wants to be let out, to come downstairs and eat grown-up cat food. Some things are a universal constant across species.

I have another hour of quiet until I need to start to review the material for the seminar I'm giving this afternoon. In the meantime, I skim the internet, drink coffee and eat toast made from Sunday's bread.

Reading: Copywriting, Mark Shaw; Unseen Academicals, Terry Pratchett, and How to Hepburn, Karen Karbo (about Kate, not Audrey)

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Procrastinating this evening: I should be updating my notes for tomorrow's seminar. Instead, I'm hoping that my voice will hold for the six hours I have to lecture and am delighted with the discovery of new (good) Wimsey fic. It'll go nicely with my current re-re-listening to Edward Petherbridge's readings via audiobook of various Sayers and not-Sayers novels. Blow the quality of the latter, I just rather love his voice. I do wish he'd do Busman's Honeymoon, though. My recollection of seeing him at the Lyric in the play of the novel of the play ... or whichever way it was ... grows fainter, which is tiresome.