Anne managed to finish all of her cat-sitting gigs by lunchtime today.
Faced with a surprise weekend afternoon with my all-time best lady-friend we did possibly my favorite open air activity.
We went down to Seaport, took 2 deck-chairs out of the trunk of the car and sat by the end of the dock.
And proceded to watch the airplanes fly over the top of us as they land at Logan.
Of course we lasted about 5 minutes because it's breezier than an easy, breezy CoverGirl down there.
So back in the warm comfort of my car and with the sunroof open we speculated on airplane liveries, as well as life, love, leisure and the lack of allure of owning a sailboat.
There's a dog kennel business down there too, so every 5 minutes you'd see a happy owner running out with a chirpy terrier, no doubt pissing off the hardy fishermen who pitch their rods in the hope of catching a fish before the squawking maniacal over-sized sea gulls get there first.
Afterwards, and predictably, I got lost in this otherwise soul-less part of Boston. Bizarrely Cirque du Soleil have pitched a huge tent down there for a new show.
Anne confided in me that she could never be a traveling acrobat.
She never fails to surprise me.
Back in Cambridge we did what any sane-minded adults would do on a sunny summer evening. We went to Za, had a cocktail and then headed back home for a bit of Downton Abbey.