Sunday. There was a Swedish police procedural last night at nine, Maria Wern and I, of course, watched it, getting to bed by eleven. Can't really complain, I knew I was heading out early to photograph the Dykes on Bikes at the LGBT Pride Parade this morning, catching the eight-twenty train and so needed to drive directly from breakfast to the station. At least it's a Sunday and there's no meters and plenty of parking.

And so up with the alarm. Well, awake with the alarm, lying in bed thinking maybe I'd skip breakfast and spend the next hour coming into consciousness. This was the idea for about five minutes when the day kicked in and I was out of bed and on the way. Breakfast and the papers, the drive to BART arriving ten minutes before the train was due to arrive. Good, after all the fussing.

A clear and sunny day. I wore a light jacket that worked out alright, could have made do with just the long sleeved shirt (and t-shirt), but a good hour and a half of shooting. I noticed I wasn't seeing many of the participants I've photographed in the past. A few, but I thought overall fewer bikes, fewer dykes and not many I recognized. Maybe telling me I've been shooting this thing for too long. Sixteen years of pictures, missing one or two (don't really remember how many), but it's been a long time.

Fine, a train back as the parade started, back home then to post yesterday's entry and look at the pictures. Some decent ones, none spectacular, but they look alright. We'll work on them this afternoon (and tonight and I suspect all day tomorrow if not Tuesday as well).

Later. I did lie down for about and hour, more for all the running around than being tired, but an hour was enough to recharge the batteries. I think. Going through the photographs, the usual “do I like any of these” thoughts going through my head. It's going to take a while, best to start on the guitar a little early, make sure I don't neglect it as I usually will after an event.

Evening. Some guitar, not enough; more pictures, not enough; television, but not enough unless it was too much. I know, I know. Makes no sense, but I did watch some of the International Mystery series that started at nine going back and forth between Endeavor, a new young Inspector Morse series on PBS. Not sure why I'm so off on the Inspector Morse series, both of them, the young and the old, but I find I don't much like the character, certainly the older character caught between booze, English universities and opera.

You've always liked opera and only recently had a falling out with booze.

My body has had a falling out with booze, my brain is still game and looking for a way around the problem.