Today I was going to rant about how utterly unfair work is at the moment, and it is, but then I decided that if I just got on with it instead of ranting on LiveJournal I might be able to get home before nightfall. So I did, and I did, and I saw lots of butterflies on the Coton cycle-path, and then went the long way home round the ring-road because it was too hot to fight through the centre of town, and had home-made sorbet with some very dubious vodka, and ranted a bit, and now the house is just about cool enough to sleep in, so I think that's what I'll do in a minute or two.
The chap down the road has been playing jazz saxophone for the last three hours non-stop, though I can only really hear him properly when next-door's baby stops screaming. I can still hear the trains in the distance, though. It's amazing how far sound travels in this weather.
So many things I want to write about, and no laybys in my head to shunt bits of it into while I get it into shape, so instead it all just races past. Or stands still while we fly by; hard to tell which, sometimes.