The Dr and the Other Wife have arrived safely in sunny Venice, after quite an Adventure yesterday in getting to Paris by train. The Dr is speaking at a conference on Mary Severn, the artist wife of Doctor Who's friend Charles Newton. I assume the conference will be a lot like FantasyCon, only with more goths and corsets.
I, meanwhile, have a lot of typing to do. Which is not helped by the stereo drilling from my neighbours downstairs and next door. I still possess the note they wrote in the first week of June saying the building work might take "until Friday". Yesterday, the machines began grinding at about eight in the morning and were still going at nine at night.
(Yes, it's now September. And despite odd flourishes of sunshine, nine is now no longer in the evening but very much at night.)
The building works have been going on so long the dim cat has stopped being bothered. I'm finding them knackering.
But on we slog. And, via Cornell, here is something rather splendid: