Back from my errands and my noon meeting with John Scott, which took much longer than I'd thought it would. I must now do some writing, but there's no way I'll get more than two or three pages done today, which is slightly annoying - unless I decide not to go to Benjamin Button this evening and see that Tuesday. We'll see how far I get. I'm taking pages to muse Margaret tomorrow no matter what.
John had made a sandwich for each of us, but I really didn't want to eat it - had to, to be polite, but he had it cut into four pieces of which I only ate three. John is a fantastic composer, but not a fantastic cook. This was some sort of egg salad thing with way too much mayo and pine nuts and some lox added on. Not for me, but I was a good soldier.