Firecrest

Still not cracked the sleeping problem that's blighted me these past few days.  But a good long read of my book (hurrah for Kindle and not having to wake co-sleepers) between 5 and 6.30 helped.

When the proper day started, there was lots of cuddling of a poorly boy who, despite the sore feverish head and inability to eat anything, was determined not to miss James Bond in Toulouse.  So he and Mr B headed off, while TallGirl and I (otherwise known as 'those who are cowed by terrorists') stayed home to garden.

There was some gardening for sure; leaves were raked and bagged for leafmould, plants were planted and beds were mulched.  There were also some grand plans for ponds, bridges, arbours and hedges.  And a little sitting around in the sunshine, when it finally appeared.

All the planned work, of course, went by the wayside when Mr B arrived back and, before I knew what was happening, I was drinking champagne on the terrace and accepting that work was done for the day.  This firecrest skipped and twirled around us all afternoon - flitting from tree to tree.  Not a great shot, but it has a bird in it, so better than a lot of the other ones I have...

CarbBoy rallied to eat a few spoonfuls of mash for dinner, but is all round very poorly. We all feel a bit on the brink of something painful, to be honest, but he is generally our canary in the mine: the first to tip over the edge.