Leggings - the anthem after 1am.

Just after 1 a.m the strains of a national anthem hits the pre-light air in a heavy swelter of notes. I wonder dazedly which old Romany legend are we fulfilling? Tonight it might be ye old tale of Queen Christine who left her daughter behind her in England as unworthy of the honour that birth had given her. Or so the story goes... it all makes money however.

It's true – they've found her. Lives happily and loves the jingle of cash registers and music.

I've no idea whether she takes after her Mother in any way.

The odd thing is though, is that she prefers the Latviarin anthem and talks of how the fish has gone. At least a topical story for her country. Perhaps someone is burying someone in the dark.

I get up. A desire to reminince with the computer – I had an encounter of the odd kind yesterday. It was a fabled beastie who wanted to say, “Boo!' and see me skeedaddle... I'm not sure who it was.

I was in too much of a hurry to get well away. Such a lot of huff and puff. So many to decide what and where people like me can do. Yet nothing proper – no communication first. Let them slide away.