Heading home

A morning walk. Steeply up through woods, top carriage drive to Rickety Gate, red track to Blue Mill, back up to the moor, down this way by the big stones.

Almost 6 miles then home to write memoirs of the 1962/3 winter, third coldest in UK.

Spoke to a friend we made in Kyrgyzstan for over an hour on FaceTime. He is on his own, living in a Glasgow flat, and is trying to contact people every day to have some kind of social life.

A friend left us a Saturday Guardian, a box of truffles, a bottle of gin and some tonic on our step. how kind was that.