Earthquake

There was a 5.6 earthquake at about eight last night in the East Bay, but I didn't feel a thing. It was deep and on the Hayward Fault so there might well be more. We have survival kits at home and in the car.

We were watching Incubus, made in 1966, black and white, in Big Sur, in Esperanto. Very interesting story about the survival of the only print (it was running as a cult noir in Paris), and the film itself is heavily Bergmanesque. A real treat.

I am now face to face with Master Mouse - the foot soldiers have been dispatched and for two days now the bait has gone but the trap unsprung. Devilish cunning required. You try tying cheese to the trigger of a modern clothes-peg mousetrap. Maybe SuperGlue is the idea.

I have built out the door frame of the bathroom - much better - reset the loo with not only the thickest, industrial strength wax ring I could find, but also cut a further half-inch from the old one to supplement. It was very easy to see the problem, the last ring had fallen from the horn of the pedestal because it just didn't fill the space. Then I mended George's jeans, Felix's white linen shirt, made lentil soup and in the evening we visited Amy, the new kitten.

Amy

Underpinning all this is that I can see my camera work was far better this last shoot, and they could hardly be better, nicer clients. I don't like blogging about work but my work of any kind is deeply meaningful to me, maybe too meaningful. We are not one quarter as busy here as we were in London (amazing what a move of five thousand miles can do to your client base), and that sometimes gives rise to wrenching anxiety and a frugality which precludes many things I would enjoy. And so the world grows smaller.