It's Sunday!

After noting yesterday that all my days were becoming indistinguishable, today was very much ... Sunday. I realise that even in the very odd situation in which we all now find ourselves, some little routines have already established themselves. One of these routines is that of church "attendance". It would be so easy to clear away the breakfast things and then follow the service on my phone screen without ever leaving my chair, but for - presumably - the same kind of reason that takes me to a church building for a service, I feel the need to go upstairs to the study, to put my office chair and Mr PB's in a position for us both to be on my screen, to put the fire on (there's literally no room for a central heating radiator in our study, and the mornings are still chilly), to dress relatively tidily. And our Rector makes every effort to make our screens suitable for the moment, so this particular slide shows Judas inspecting the wound on the side of the risen Christ while the sermon was preached. 

The next little ritual is coffee with our friends, downstairs in the dining-room (the garden was still a tad chilly, as well as being too bright to see the screen. The four of us sit drinking coffee and chatting for the best part of an hour - today we dissected the failures of the Westminster government in the period of inaction before lockdown was enforced. I'll just slide over that for now - it's too late at night to get angry again.

Lunch in the garden was peaceful and lovely, and I read my book (Margaret Attwood's The Testaments - I'm reading far more literature now that we're not getting the Sunday papers, which tend to last me all week). Then there was a phone call from the bishop, a FaceTime with one son who was slightly distracted by the tendency of his cat to explore too far for a first outing, a zoom call with the other son whose help I needed over some technology - this ended up with the girls in their kitchen, where they were baking), and the downloading of Dropbox while the need to do so was fresh in my mind.

Eventually we were able to go out for the obligatory walk (something that has been obligatory for us long before anyone made it a rule in the time of pestilence) and pottered off down to the West Bay and up the back, ending up in the start of the Bishop's Glen and home through the churchyard. The birds sang their hearts out and the gorse smelled of coconut. The extra photo was taken on the way home, and is part of the house on the site where Burns' Highland Mary lived.

And then there was dinner. Really, I feel life revolves round food and exercise, and we're eating far too well for our waistlines. Tonight we had moussaka and green beans, followed by vibrant pink forced rhubarb with a dollop of yogurt. And a rather splendid red wine ... 

And now it's bedtime again. Another time of ritual ...