I worked on Monday. There was a public holiday for the funeral, but I’d rather take a day off when things are open.
The Queen is still dead. Not that you’d have expected anything else. No unexpected resurrection. And yet every radio news bulletin has led with it, as if anyone could possibly not know by now.
The August Bank Holiday is, famously, the last before Christmas in public-holiday-starved England, but I didn’t take Monday off. L— was at home working on a paper, so we went to a nearby café for lunch. It was a welcome change to my normal routine.