Yesterday

I listened to the Brahms and it was quite as expected; nasty, insinuating thirds and sixths and deliberately 'clever' turns of harmony. I'm sure there must have been at least a couple of references to either Beethoven or Bach (or both), but I couldn't be bothered to listen out for them. I enjoyed the way it was performed though; clear and sharp and not at all muddy.
It was curry for dinner, and I ate it all. Afterwards I watched a made-for-television film about some Victorian murders. The performance was wooden and not at all convincing. The costume was hilarious. The women were all the wrong shape, owing to a complete lack of corsets. The leading actress had a bustle that was at least a yard longer than everyone else's. Her deportment was shocking, and the bustle bobbed up and down whenever she moved, and stood up at the most ridiculous angle when she leaned over. She looked rather like a pantomime horse. The biggest blooper, in what was supposed to be 19th-Century London, was the American spelling gray, rather than the British grey. Very clumsy and very annoying.
Late in the evening there was a knock on the door. Gulp. I pulled myself together and answered it. It was the owner of the flat upstairs, who came to tell me that she'd won the court case. The people upstairs should already have left, but obviously haven't. I suppose there-s going to be an ugly scene very soon, with bailiffs and screaming kids and the like. I bet she's already got somewhere to move into. Bed at a quarter to ten.