Dumplings

My first meeting was one of those where you’re not advised to prepare anything but then are put on the spot only to babble absolutely incoherent crud to the colleagues assembled. It wasn’t my smoothest start to a day.

Around lunchtime I achieved the usually unattainable dream of using the oven to cook something (dumplings, a yellow-sticker purchase that was due to become inedible) and taking a thirty-minute walk in the sun as it cooked.

In the evening a cycle to one of the many idyllic villages around Cambridge. This time it was Barton, where I sat by this pond in quiet contemplation.