‘Aren’t you going to say anything else?’
‘I love you.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘For now, yes.’
Been binge-watching ‘The Hour’. I wish I had started sooner and that a series 3 was in the pipeline, she says months after everyone else did. It’s another one of those shows that makes me want to move to London, even though Fictional 1950s London is a place that has never existed.
I’m no cultural critic in an academic way, but there is something about British drama set during the Cold War that is imminently appealing and nearly irresistible. I might have to watch The Spy Who Came in From the Cold next.
But, oh lord, the friendzoning on this show. Poor Freddie.
The babbies I was meant to be visiting have their first colds, poor poppets, so my visit with them has been postponed until they are less miserable and snotty and their parents have managed to sleep. Can you give babies hot toddies? Maybe I don’t know enough about children.
It’s the anniversary of a bad day, so I will spend a good chunk of today in the garden trying to clean up the mess I made through neglect this summer. The only bright spot is that my tomatoes are still doing well, but, as frost is expected this week, I have to bring them inside to ripen the last ones in paper bags.
I’ll also make some burrito filling, because I can.