It was indeed approaching in the near distance and took me right down for a good hour's sleep, feeling better when I awoke. Yes, some of it was sleep. A bus then downtown to get out of the apartment, getting off at Latham Square to see how it was stumbling along, a crew putting up a surrounding string of lights similar to the strings of lights that circle the lake. So good. I guess.

Over to the City Center going through various choices for lunch. Didn't want to eat at Genji, which would have been the best choice from a wholesome food standpoint deciding on, settling on, the bagel shop for a bagel, cream cheese and coffee. What the hell, I'm lucky I was able to convince myself to eat anything at all.

A half hour or so sitting, eating and drinking out at one of their tables, then a walk up Broadway (passing that lighting crew again), passing the Fox theater (which of the acts were they waiting to see or buy tickets for?) and then catching another bus home at Grand. An ice cream cone from the 7-11 look-alike along the way and all was done.

Back now, the fan blowing a cooling column of air across the body, the sinuses quiet, the attitude in shape. If I can extend it to a good session on the guitar the day will be complete. Who knows what's on television at six? Something decent at six and we'll undoubtedly go through another round of all this (hup! hup! feeling fine) crowing again.

Later still. Another nap. Because I was tired. They're good for you: naps.

Evening. The French Blood On The Docks episode was reasonably interesting at six and, although they'd replaced good old Dalziel and Pasco with The Bletchley Circle, a British mini-series about four women code breakers getting together nine years after the Second World War to track down a serial killer out of boredom and a sense of duty. The ladies had broken codes and found patterns in intercepted enemy communications that lead them to success in fighting the Germans, one such being the nailing of Rommel. My, my. Very nice, I thought. What a good idea for a show. So much for Mr. Dalziel and Mr. Pasco.

The men are all played as idiots, believable enough as stuffy self satisfied idiots (I myself can play that role). Fair enough, a lot of us about, but their solution, deciding to trap the killer themselves because the male police superintendent wouldn't listen, was another wander into a deserted warehouse alone at midnight (this time, however, with a revolver) affair. Which is essentially how it ended. At least the revolver was loaded. Maybe they were copying the what seem to be successful Swedish female detective programs? Did I end up missing Dalziel and Pasco?

No Foyle's War following after, the The Bletchley Circle played out in three one hour episodes, ending just before eleven so we'll get to bed a little late, although earlier than we did last night. By a few minutes. A step behind, a step ahead.