Couldn't get to the blog for a thought-through session tonight. I'll try to make up tomorrow and continue the current series on Milieu and Refuge. It may nothelp that I am currently reading four books at once, switching between them: Rose Tremain, Denise Riley, Roland Barthes and, now, Paul Lendvai. Also translating Magda Szabó, Krasznahorkai and some poets from Dachau. Writing snippets in between.
Nothing unusual then. Must try harder.
Tonight, having slept badly the night before, I got stuck with the Olympics, watching the GB football team versus Uruguay. I feel very fond of this young GB team. Everyone was talking about how bad they were, what gulfs of class existed between them and other teams, forgetting that they had never played together. They have improved a little each game until now they are actually more formidable than they themselves think they are. The Welsh players have played major parts. Some of the passing has been excellent. Bellamy, Joe Allen, Tom Cleverley, Aaron Ramsey, Caulker and the rest have been pretty solid 90%of the time, and Jack Butland looks world class right now.
And I rather like dour old, mad Stuart Pearce. An NCO left over from the First World War with more brains about him than might appear at first sight he is regarded by the punditocracy as something faintly embarrassing. All the more reason to like him.
I also watched some of the women's game against Brazil and was very taken by how far everyone had improved from even a few years ago. Strong, skilful, fast. Coming on fast too.
And Bradley Wiggins - what a gent! Propelled on sheer sideburn power he burns off everyone else then mutters in a pleased, surprised, faintly droll way. Something peasantly Pooterish in him, as if the Pooters had gained a gene or two. Lupin with proper lungs and muscles.
And the girls in the rowing! Glad some have struck gold. A few are needed to continue the job of the opening ceremony - not wagonloads, just a few.