Yesterday afternoon we went to Eyup, an old mosque and graveyard which lies further up the Golden Horn than we’ve been to date. We got a ride to the foot of the cable car that takes one up to the top, to find a really, really long queue. We waited about 30 minutes, during which I started feeling progressively worse and worse with the usual monthly debilitation, and a genuine fear that I might vomit all over the cable car. The line barely moved and it was very hot. At last, after we’d waited for a while (and realised the long, long queue was for only 4 cars), I thought I had best return. So the GF found me a taxi back, and stayed on, but instead of taking the cable car he walked up to find it was only about 10 minutes and, by all accounts, not really worth a 30 minute queue though the mosque itself sounds beautiful and one to visit.
Oh well. If we stay here, then I will go back. But it was the right decision to come back as I was really not feeling great (damn this womanly body) and it was an immense relief to collapse on the sofa for a bit.
Late at night the news of Trump’s tax returns appeared. The man pays less tax than I would have had I been the hairdresser whose payment he wrote off on his tax returns. Will it make the slightest difference to the result? Unlikely I imagine.