Sunday. Lights out by nine-thirty to awaken at five-thirty, dozing on and off for another half hour before getting up and getting ready to drive to breakfast on an overcast, but no signs of rain morning (none has been forecast), to arrive just before seven, the restaurant dark, but the dining area door unlocked and so inside to turn on the lights and settle in with the papers.

The two strips of bacon, eggs over medium, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast to finish up as it approached nine and so out the door to look at the gas price sign across the street, squinting a bit and wondering if it had dropped from $3.89 to $3.65? OK, walked across the street to take a picture of the change and saw it had dropped but four cents to $3.85, the lights in their sign needing attention. (When I got home I realized it hadn't dropped at all as yesterday's price had been $3.85 all along. Another memory glitch for the list delivered after breakfast.)

I'd been thinking of going by the supermarket, but didn't, of course, keeping to habit and so to the car and home, taking another selfie, this time with a larger DSLR camera. Up to the apartment to edit and post yesterday's entry and think about the rest of the day. Feel OK.

Later. Watched the Valero Texas Open on television, taking a break to walk over to the lake to get out of the apartment and see what the now sunny day looked like. Quite a few people were walking the lake, but with the sinus-upper palate acting up, I decided to give up and turn back around at the white column pergola to head back to the apartment when I heard a voice behind me calling out “Mr. Photographer” turning around to meet a young woman who was decked out in camera gear.

Turned out she was a Chronicle photographer there shooting for an upcoming story on the lake (Oakland's back yard) and calling out to warn me to keep me eye open for thieves who were after people's cameras, one of their camera crews having recently been robbed. Thanked her and mentioned I was more than aware of the problem.

Ended up taking but three photographs for the outing. Thought of getting a grilled chicken sandwich, but chickened out with the aching head and scrambled something together in the kitchen. More golf.

Evening. I believe I've bitched here a number of times about a Norwegian detective series that runs on Sundays and so have no excuse in bitching after watching Varg Veum – At Night All Wolves Are Gray this evening. Same complaint, the character is clueless. Also watched the follow on Swedish series Blue Eyes – A Sunday In September, chapter something or other, that took me some time to remember what had preceded it in the story and managed to figure out about half of what was going one. Enough for one day, to bed again not long after nine.