It's very silent here. I'm all alone. Even the cleaner has failed to turn up, oddly. Our accounts and job tracking program has broken, possibly because it twigged that its minder was away. The house still looks as if we've been burgled, but I've translated six thousand words.
DanHerring got into bed last night and said, 'Harry', very firmly. He's been listening in on Patrick's bedtime story lately (as well as demanding his own), so I had to read him a chapter of The Half Blood Prince, which sent him to sleep. Of course I shall have to read it again when Pats gets back from Wales.
Meanwhile the Herring is in London, and not doing too badly. Feeling oddly loose-endish, though there's a vast amount of translation and tidying to do - it doesn't inspire enthusiasm. Ah well. back to the grindstone.