Monday, just another Monday, breakfast followed by some gardening time as I continue to put the garden to bed. A lunch time walk to pick up a paper and rediscovered hot cross buns takes me into an afternoon of reading, interrupted by the Tesco delivery driver tapping on the window to wake me up. Shopping stowed I return to reading The Fourth Shore. I finally get to the end of this tale of naive catholic Italian imperialism rape and female entanglement leading to later life discover of unlikely relatives, but hey what would you expect from leaving a blue eyed baby in the desert with your brothers native tattooed wife to raised while you piss off back to England to end up marrying a placid midclass bloke who then dies leaving you with a house and pension. Just a story of everyday folk I guess. Such bollocks, but not sure I’ll say that when I meet the author in November. I will of course read Early One Morning by the same author just to see what equally fantastic tale is created. I eat and watch TV exhausted by the demands on my credulousness. I watch Bill Baily’s Limboland before bed to return myself to some sense of reality. I’ve not trained and I wonder whats happening to my motivation, I’m sleeping less and feel tired a lot of the time, I guess there’s my answer.