I got up this morning, refused to get out of bed, and went back to sleep for a bit. Finally I got up, found some clothes. and trundled across the way to the French Market thing they've got set up at the base of St. Mary's Putney for some "pave' fume'," smoked cheese with ham in it, and then over to the bacon stand across the street for (duh) bacon. Once home I made poached eggs on crumpets with melted hammy cheese on top, bacon on the side, and an extra piece of toasted rosemary bread with more melted cheese. Because, see, when I was walking back, I went by the Wagamama, which was FULL of people eating bowls of noodles and Curry Udon, and was a bit grossed out by having so much heavy food so early in the day, only when I got home I realized it was 12:30 and I was just getting around to making breakfast, so I thought maybe I should add just a bit more food to the plate to make it more of a brunch size. Man, I'm slow. I think I must blow all my energy going to shows and such during the week because I sure don't have any get up and go come Saturday.
So now I've eated and LJed and fed shadowdaddy his Connie Willis cracknovel (The Doomsday Book) and I don't really want to do a thing, though I will take a nap soon. I might hit the Primark in Hammersmith and see if I can find an outfit for the party tonight, but only after I've 1) hung up the laundry and 2) walked up the river, because that will be nice.
I'm not doing too well blogging my Penguin classic. Fortunately Mozart's Journey to Prague is quite short. Half of it is poetry and I'm finding the translations intolerably bad, so I'll just consider it "done" when I've finished with the story bit. Rather a lot of it seems to be absorbed with Mozart's inability to be responsible, financially or otherwise, though, once again, there seems to be a dinner party happening. I love this idea of people going to parties and sitting around playing the piano (or whatever) and singing to each other - what's happened to this tradition?