To be, and then I realised that I have the ceiling lights on still for some reason. Ordinarily, at this time of morning, during the Night Office and Prime et cetera, I only keep a reading light on, on the desk. Today is one of those days when errands disrupt my morning routine. Missed the Mass of Deposition, the conclusion of the Forty Hours, at Saint-Eugène because it happened at 0200 here, tsk, and I had neglected to check on this. And I will miss the Mass of the feria (i.e. Quinquagesima's Mass repeated since there is no feast in the Calendar) because I will be out and about. Let's see if I can remember my errands: bank, pharmacy, library, supermarket. Happily, apart from the shopping list (which will be on the mobile), each of those destinations involve only one task i.e. I can scarcely forget why I'm at the pharmacy or the bank. Ha; I was once momentarily confused as to whether I had to go into the bank or could use the ATM-- but a half second's glitch isn't in the same league as forgetting why one is where one is.
I did forget to take my prostate medicament yesterday, sigh, although I'm pretty sure that one miss can have very little effect. It hasn't before. Tea and toast and then Terce; am leaving the house at 0930 so will say Sext at 0900. Pavel Kolesnikov is playing Bach's Goldberg Variations at Wigmore Hall at 1130-- that is what the schedule says, at least-- and I ought to be back for that. That is what the page is still promising.
Ante Sextam. Was back in plenty of time. Wigmore Hall, however, insists on a change of password every fortnight or every month and I had to fuss over that. Was quite grumpy for a few minutes after the librarian insisted that I stand, waiting, on the red disk painted on the sidewalk. I didn't, of course, while she went to collect my held books but after a minute of rebellion I felt rather childish and so stood with one foot on the disk and one foot off. And my mood was not improved by the cart-collector telling me that I was not properly wearing my mask when I entered the supermarket: there is more than one reason I usually visit there just after they've opened at 0600. Such people remind me of that passage in The Lord of the Rings from the chapter The Scouring of the Shire (I think it's called): the returning adventurers find their homeland plagued by officious bureaucrats of a newly-installed dictatorship who prefer the new order of regimentation and their self-importance in it to the liberties of the old. But Bach sets all aright.
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