I didn't sleep well last night, and was awoken by the bloody right-hand neighbours doing, again, some construction on their house, with chain saws and hammers beginning at 8:00 a.m., just like they did last weekend. They had friends come to help with the work and they were all shouting above the chain saw and the hammers, and their five (six?) kids were yelling in the front and back yards, and the dog barked endlessly, and I live in a neighbourhood where the houses are barely six feet apart from each other, so the racket was terrible. As a result I had a headache all day, and the barely-suppressed desire to go over there and say unforgiveable things or perform illegal acts upon the noisy bastards. Obviously I didn't, but my goodness they were maddening. Some people make me seriously misanthropic.
As a result of the headache I spent a lazy day on the sofa with Netflix; watched three passable movies and two episodes of the final season of Wallander, which I'd not seen before. I do love that show; Kenneth Branagh is perfect in the title role. I read a little as well; Kate Morton's books are so engrossing. Tomorrow I must clean stuff. I have a stack of dirty dishes in the kitchen, and so on and so forth.
My friend and her baby are still in hospital. If she's still there tomorrow I plan to go visit her. I'm worried about the baby. (My friend is only in hospital because she's the baby's food source; she's perfectly healthy.)
And so to bed. Good night.