Joanna Lumley and I

The phone rings about 1.20 am last night. By the time C gets to it, they've gone. 1471 gives no number. Since C's mother is ill it does no good for the nerves being rung at that time, but she goes back to sleep - it is I who stay awake. For hours. And hours. Go away bloody Greta Garbo.

But it's into university for work, then a meeting, then home for continuation of work, H and R are here, H out at the wedding-dress-maker's for another fitting, C with her. R sits and works at one computer while I get on with the work. To my surprise I finish it just as C and H return. I am faintly delirious with joy. I thought it would go on for two more days, on the train to and from Oxford, and maybe even en route to Stansted on Sunday. Poet and a one-man-band. Somnambulating. Macbeth has murdered sleep. Or someone has.

Joanna Lumley stars as Hillary Clinton out of Margaret Thatcher. I once had that Lumley on AOL telling me I've got mail. It got to be embarrassing. Her voice kept winking at me. We really had to stop meeting like that.

Now I will actually fall asleep. Here goes.