I went for an unproductive yet reviving trip to the centre of town, hoping to try on some shoes and trousers before ordering them online, but didn’t find them. It was reviving as it was the first in a while I’d had time to myself, and a desi meal albeit South Indian (from Saravana Bhavan) and not that good. At the restaurant I sat next to two Indian students finishing a course, one a youngish woman and the other a middle aged civil servant from Jharkhand. Although Jharkhand is nowhere near the Pakistani border it was startling how similar his style of talking (and content) was to Pakistani civil servants. Red tape unites across borders, or perhaps a British legacy.
I returned to the house where there were some children visiting, one of whom is due for a medical procedure that has everyone petrified. It is relatively routine, but still a major surgery, and now that we know what is wrong it is easy to see the physical signs that were missed.
We watched the football final. Croatia played their heart out, and despite rooting for the French because of the large number of Muslim and/or African players, I wished the score could have been closer. Somehow I completely missed the Pussy Riot pitch invasion.
Then a meal at Pizza Express – passable, better than most chains – and a walk back past the flying fox. Along the way we discussed ways Voldemort could be dealt with by Harry Potter, and which cars we passed were actually animals.
Then the children left and the Gentleman Friend and I watched Paddington 2, which is now one of my favourite films of 2017.