ploughed field

The cello and I are having a day off at home with the cats. After a walk admiring the deep colours of a ploughed field, Oscar rolling in ochre sand and the tiny fish-leaves in a silvery olive grove (Manon stayed at home for yet more beauty zzzzzzz's), I got out all the world music CD's Julian finds a little flaky, starting in India with Lakshmi Shankar and finishing off in Mali with Salif Keita, to accompany me on a broadband blogger hunt. Thinking I would find a host of virtual friends I checked out webloggers that had an interest in the cello but found that most of them seem to be underage anti - abortionists. Now I am left with that o.d. online feeling - numb, mindless, empty, lethargic and alone. Like having travel sickness, homesickness and a hangover whilst stuck in an airport. Won't do that again in a hurry, and think I'll stick to the real world.
Julian came back just at the right moment from a day at the studio with what he called a "pile of poo". I guess you can't do a masterpiece every day.
Neither of us have eaten so we got out the big Jamon (in J's case washed down with a double whisky) to feast on but unfortunately it has dried out and turned into an oversized beef jerky. Still yummy if you forget the torreodors and think neon motorway cafe on highway 101.
Tomorrow I am off to Rochefort for the last of P and B. Ten hours there and ten hours back. I hope my colleague will have resumed talking to me