August 17

Marcin, forgetting his Slavic pragmatism and resorting to near metaphor (admittedly plagiarised) told me once that a translation is like a woman- either it's beautiful, or it's faithful. This week the news has been of terrorist suspects in dressing gowns peering through their night googels and fondling rocket lunchers by a mosque where the light minaret is zodiac and has ceramic. It reads like a cross between a transvestite shooting outing and a science fiction novel and I have decided that the translated lady of Appen Speech Technologies is neither beautiful nor faithful, but very funny.

As for Marcin I'm currently deeply charmed by him and feeling the sort of pathological tenderness usually reserved for babies and puppies. I am reading Women Hormones and the Menstrual Cycle surreptitiously on the train and hoping that it will provide me with an explanation for this unnatural affection. Or is it enough to say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Trying to rent out Cameron's room which has been a bit of a fiasco. One man called on behalf of his Thai girlfriend and rejected the room out of hand when he found that it was a seven minute walk from the station. Another came round and ranted for an hour about his days at a Scottish hunting lodge owned by the Swedish Tetrapak millionaire. Most candidates turned up their noses at the dwarf dunny in the back yard but eventually we found one nice normal girl who appeared interested. We will see tomorrow when she has to put her money where her mouth is.