23°C: The temperature forecast for tomorrow. So relieved that autumn seems to be rolling in. I'm all for an Indian summer but 34°C in September was just ridiculous.
62€: Amount I spent on a week's shopping this morning. I used to turn my nose up at the hard discount supermarkets, but no more. There's hardly any choice, the packaging is sometimes a bit dodgy, some of the cold meats are a bit, you know, German. But I can whizz round in no time, have no decisions to make, and there's no "coup de bambou" at the checkout. Next week read about our move to a trailer park.
27: The number of epidsodes in the second series of Grey's Anatomy. I thought there were only 12 so stopped there months back (but did think it was a somewhat abrupt ending). Over the past three evenings I've been catching up on the increasingly preposterous medical training of Meredith and friends. To be honest, even the romance is leaning towards the preposterous -
Finn: My mother's dead. She got cancer when I was ten and she suffered for a really long time and then she died. And my father never recovered. Its kind of like he died with her, except that his body's above ground and permanently placed in front of a TV with a bottle of scotch in his lap. And the last woman I slept with was my wife, but she died too. It was a car crash so it was quick. She didn't suffer, which I appreciated. Don't worry, I'm thinking that my luck is beginning to change, because I met you. And you like dogs, and you enjoy pony births, and have the ability to save lives. I never said I wasn't scary and damaged too. [She kisses him]