Cucumber

I could swear that's what I heard the cabbie just call his mate, and though it is surely not his nickname it really makes a good one.

It has been a day of misinterpretations - from the morning's failure to do laundry to the double-take of a book in the window en route to work: How one can mistake "The Agony of Fashion" for "A Year in London" I don't know, but there (as they say) you have it.

Cucumber. Heh. A glorious summer's day, fitting now that the marvelous month of June is once again ours for the taking. These are the days that will happen to you, Walt says, and so they shall. Lots to accomplish in the next 30, so much that it feels a bit momentous, with my year's big hearing, the countdown to the launch of Shakes-by-the-Sea and the fundraiser (ack) and even a commitment to join the gym (!). Grand possibilities in store, stories (even and hopefully) especially as they start with the annual Idol, the really REALLY big draw, Apple Blossom, and into next week's long awaited venture to George's Island, beautifully timed for Krapp's second tape. Finally ready to go in-the-volved.

This airport bus is moving tremendously slow - but what me worry over the driver's plain idiocy, I'm not catching a flight, just picking up the car. We'll see how well he comports to his schedule disspassionately. 'Tis a good word, comports.

Sitting in the shade at the back as we proceed across the bridge a feel an on-looker over a mediocre spectacle. I confess it is amusing even as it grows tedious. More soon - for the sacred June 5 is close and with it the first nip of Don Julio 1942 is nigh. Something worth waiting for.

Tomorrow, then. Funny we are always so confident that it will come.