The wind goes through it

Last night, as I was just settling down, warm as toast, baffies on, JR arrived home and reminded me we were off to the movies. A free showing of Hitchcock at Wester Hailes Odeon. Drat. I hate that! Not Wester Hailes Odeon - having my baffies on and then having to go out!

The film itself was all right. Not much of a story, really. But I couldn't wait for it to end, because the two people next to us, er, didn't smell as fresh as they should. JR was oblivious, having a cold...

I swam a kilometre this morning. Actually, more than that, but that sounds quite enough. I lost count of the metres, but Cema pointed out that 20 x 50 = 1000 metres! I'm actually doing 1,250 metres.

At the end, I floated on my back for ages and ages. Just looking up at the ceiling and wafting. I half expected, when I did eventually get up, to see all the attendants standing by the poolside, wondering whether to jump in and rescue me. No. They were chatting.

Back for a leisurely breakfast, then went down to see Uncle A with a few treats essentials. I had a fiddle with his iPad mini, putting icons in folders and downloading Boggle and putting a bookmark for blip, of course.

From there I went into town. It was a lovely day, but very very cold. I had an idea that I wanted to try out my new thin light-as-a-feather and probably useless tripod. The chap in the shop had said that the wind would just go through it and not shake it, because it was so thin. This sounded quite plausible at the time, but maybe it's just complete balderdash.

I walked through the gardens to the still-not-fountaining fountain. There was a man sitting looking at it. I could see he was holding his gloves, and I spotted the top of a bottle, possibly whisky, inside one of them.

'Solid iron' he said.' 'Transported in pieces' he went on. 'Made by a Frenchman' he was warming to his subject.

'It's a pity it doesn't actually fount,' I said.

He looked puzzled. This had not occurred to him. Water flowing? Then he agreed that would be nice. It was a fountain, after all.

I wandered off a bit, and spotted him, throwing caution to the wind, tipping his head back and swilling whatever it was in his glove.

And so I will write again to the Cooncil and ask how their leak searching is going. It was almost a year ago that I wrote. It must be a very very tricky leak! Either that, or there's just no money for such frivolities as founting fountains - we have TRAMS to pay for!

From there, I popped in to the Filmhouse to avail myself of the pensioners' afternoon deal - soup and a film for £6. Oops! A big bag of Maltesers fell into my pocket.

Hyde Park on the Hudson. Watchable. Quite enjoyable. But again - I wouldn't tell you to rush to it. My viewing of this was interrupted by an old woman along my row rustling and rustling and rustling in her plastic bag. Then another plastic bag rustling. Then a sandwich. I think all the talk in the film of 'hotdogs' had made her hungry.