The prospect of thunderstorms, always quite exciting. The number of times we are alerted to the possibility of lightning and thunder, however, far surpasses their actual incidence, so I've learned that such predictions generally mean, 'it's going to be hot but you lot will survive the heat'.
A brave or reckless squirrel is nut-scavenging-- he has no idea whether the monster is going to race out the door; maybe he hopes, and enjoys the prospect of a race. One the dog will almost certainly lose because if ever he gets too close to victory the squirrel can leap and be up in the tree branches in an instant. It is still asleep on the sofa in the living room, or was the last time I was out there, before Prime. Went out to the mailbox to collect my book-- it was delivered sometime in the late afternoon yesterday, I guess. A translation by Alex Andriesse of excerpts from Chateaubriand's Mémoires de l'outre-tombe. The introduction is by someone whose name I am supposed to recognize with a laurel crown but I don't.
Am going to resume my cleaning. But I will not miss the 0805 bus today.
Later on. I did rather ineffectively clean a metal stand of some sort that my landlady lets sit in the dining room/kitchen region: it is designed, I believe, to hold, on five mesh-bottomed levels, plants of some variety; perhaps. My object was to eliminate the dog hair, mouse-droppings (she and the departed housemate have me using the euphemism now, tsk: there were mice but the current rodent population comprises the squirrels outdoors and their distant cousins outdoors and some indoors who are themselves cousins of the mice) and obvious accretions of dirt; I accomplished that but it could scarcely be argued that the thing is clean. It's an attractive and well-constructed piece of garden furniture, I'll give it that much. That it belongs useless and space-occupying anywhere near the kitchen I deny. Half past the hour: must bandage my leg wound and brush my teeth before going out to the bus.