Sunday. Val working once again, so I took my time in arising, cleaned the block fairly cursorily, + off to the football. It ws alright, but all the excitement has been taken out of the Championship by the fact that Liverpool are romping away with it. Again. Ho hum.
In the afternoon, we borrowed Todd’s tape recorder, + I spent a fruitless half-hour trying to record tape to tape, + transfer the best of the tapes we were no longer going to keep onto one tape. But no go. So I recorded the NZ pop chart off the radio instead. While Val began, unsuccessfully, to begin a letter-tape to send home. Something about the machine thwarted her.
Val had to work in the evening but I didn’t, so I strolled up to visit Robert. He was just on his way out to go + have dinner with Tom. A bit embarrassing really, tho’ I wasn’t too upset about it. And hearing on someone’s radio that England had beaten the Aussies, so kept us in with an outside chance of reaching the final of the triangular series going on in Australia, cheered me somewhat. England lost to NZ the other day in ridiculous circumstances. We’d set a record score, then allowed the Kiwis to better it. I was surprisingly depressed about the whole thing, especially since I’m not really a cricket fan. I returned home + started reading “Daniel Martin” by John Fowles, the book Val had given me for Christmas. And so far, at any rate, I’m enthralled.
Mostly news of events away from Haruru Falls – sports of various kinds, none of which seems to be going spectacularly well.
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