More often than not I am up and about early on Saturday, leaving my lie-in for Sundays, but I must have built up a bit of a sleep deficit and find myself not being woken by the central heating coming on and sleeping on till half-past nine. Talk about luxury! During the day I find myself going back over my hair-dryer treatment of my account manager yesterday, though my wife insists I was entitled to demonstrate my outrage in a highly assertive manner. Well, it certainly was that. He'll never forget that little conversation; I think we can be sure of that. The only thing remaining is to make sure I'll never have to see him again, though he might be so mortified he arranges that off his own bat. I should make sure though.
This evening I watch "High Noon" for the nth time. Boy, do they not make films like that any more. The power of the monochrome images, the subtle skill of Fred Zinnemann's direction. Name a better western. Go on. Can't, can you?
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