Instead of being out-and-about taking photographs, I mostly spent the weekend sorting through heaps of receipts and card statements and other dead-tree crap. This explains my writing new posts on a Saturday and Sunday for a change and responding promptly and grumpily to visitors here until the small hours of this morning. The bleep of another incoming suicide commenter was a welcome distraction.
Last week I registered retrospectively with the Inland Revenue as self-employed and registered the accounting software package I’m using to keep track of my income and outgoings. Anyone who knows me will know how much I hate handling this kind of bookwork—mainly because I am scrupulous to the point of spiting myself.
I did take an all-too-brief break on Sunday to hang out with Leasey and friend by the sea front. (Sadly, I missed their party in crazy downtown Eastbourne.) If you bought the Guardian today the view we saw of the insanely crowded Brighton beach fills the entire middle-page spread. I didn’t take the shot. In fact, I remember looking out at the hordes and thinking: “Blimey, that’s a lot of people. Not much of a photograph though.” So I wasn’t impressed by the result that appeared in the paper, but there was a superb one of a guy herding horses last Thursday.
Anyway, you will all learn to hate my book-keeping binges too, because they will make me even more boring than usual. The Inland Revenue have handled their dealings with me so far with will-sappingly cheerful efficiency. I can’t even make a joke at their expense.