My washing machine is making some very strange and slightly concerning noises.

It’s Andrew’s birthday on Thursday, when I’ll be otherwise occupied in a stadium in Lisbon (he says, rubbing it in), so today was the traditional summer barbeque.

In the rain.

Fortunately the barbeque is a permanent fixture, which means it has a room-sized roof over the top of it, so we could burn meat (and vegetarian meat substitute products derived of carefully modified fungus) with impunity. Or at least Andrew could while we all huddled around the dining table, complaining about the arctic gales gusting through the back door.

All very merry.

I introduced everyone to Mancala, and then to Cathedral, and won every game after which, bizarrely enough, nobody was too keen on a return match. Hmmm… Anyhow, I played with the cat for a bit, as she doesn’t much care for board games.

It’s as well Kathryn and Emilie Ems both said it looked like I’d lost weight on Friday as I think I ate more than I’d normally consume in a whole week this afternoon. So much for those shorts I bought yesterday with the 28in waist.

Stopped by at the pool on the way home, intending to swim it all off, but my body was more occupied with digesting the genetically adjusted mycoprotien instead, so couldn’t really be arsed with moving my legs around more than was strictly necessary.

I gave up after half a mile, feeling vaguely numb from the waist down, and went around to Paul’s to pull the covers off his suite.

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