Realised this morning that I'm slightly afraid of Sundays in this condition, given that Sunday is when I miscarried last time.
That reminds me of the one part of The Invisibles that I have always thought was a nonsense. Edith, in her 1930's self has a miscarriage out of the blue in the middle of... probably Harvey Nich's, and a nice young man picks it up in his bowler hat!
No no no. That would not happen for several reasons. 1) Although it is an assumption, presumably she'd be wearing knickers! 2) There's a hell of alot of pretty bad labour pain over about 4 or 5 hours before the actual miscarriage so the chances of Edith not knowing what was going on is miniscule - she certainly wouldn't be gadding about shopping for nice hats. More like rolling around on the floor groaning in agony.
Anyway. I've wanted to say that somewhere for ages.
Had smoked mackeral yesterday which was what I imagine fish should taste like. Strong and oily. It was (whisper it) rather nice. On top of which I managed to get round to seeing Confessions of a Dangerous Mind at last. Noticeable not only for being a good fun romp of a film, but also is notable for large sections of almost completely gratuitous shots of Sam Rockwell's glamorous arse. I think George Clooney has a bit of a thing about arses and
I'm sure he also did it partially as a joke. But, I'd certainly not worry about being faced with Sam Rockwell's ass again. Heh. If I read that about a woman I'd be enraged, obviously. I blame my hormones.
I was almost crumbling with exhaustion when we got out of the cinema though.
Meanwhile, John Simpson recorded an account of being involved in a devastating friendly fire incident which sounded absolutely horrific. Their translator's legs were blown off and he died within minutes. He saw a man burning to death in front of him; body parts blown all around him and a shrapnel part nearly made it through the kevlar on his gun-proof jacket.
The Americans were muffling their way through a press conference an hour after he's put the report in.