Over the hill

Blearily, I emerge to late morning sunshine, but am soon embroiled in spreadsheet. It’s going to be one of those days.

Mid-afternoon I hop on the bike and head over the hill to visit Bill at the chapel. He’s still working away, fixing things and decorating, some that are worn out, others that have been put off for a quarter of a century.

We drink tea, while he practices his grumpy old man routine. He show me his latest score from a car boot sale (a petrol tree-lopper) and the two mopeds that he’s going to sell next.

On the way home I drop in at Tom’s. It’s the annual family gathering. There are multiple generations, step-relations, boyfriends and girlfriends. I’m barraged by names that I’ll never remember, and quickly move on.

Up the track, through Craigurd, home. There’s broccoli and milk that need used up, so it’s broccoli cheese for tea. Add fried tomato and onion, and half a large steak. And there’s the other half for tomorrow.