Moving again

Today, despite the continuing wind and rain and general gloom outside, I had the sense that things are indeed on the move - rather, perhaps, like that moment when the icicles begin to drip in Narnia because Aslan is on the move? For a start, the bread that I had to bake on the timer and hoped would not fall victim to another power cut turned out to be quite the best loaf I've made in ages. My porridge didn't boil over in the microwave (it's been doing this recently). A picture frame I ordered arrived - though I almost gave the delivery man a heart attack when I leaned out of the window to shout down that the porch was open and to thank him. And then there was the laugh at the viral parish council meeting in England somewhere, with the ranting men and the calm woman Jackie Weaver ...

I spent an hour learning new things about a poem I'm doing with my class on Tuesday (no - it's a secret) and took delivery of a bunch of forced rhubarb from the fish van. I love forced rhubarb, and this looks particularly splendid. And in the afternoon we got out. I felt so dire after sitting around for so long yesterday that I'd have gone out whatever the weather, but in fact we made a good choice in avoiding the wind and not being rained on much. Our walk along the far side of Loch Eck was more spectacular than usual today, with snow new-fallen on the hills and water from all the rain purling off the hillsides and pouring into the swollen river. Funny - a friend of a friend, a person I only know through Facebook, asked me the other day if I walked as much before lockdown. The answer, of course, was yes. Every day that passes I realise it's a sanity thing as well as physical health.

The best bit came as a bit of an add-on; we got home just on 5pm to find the answering machine flashing with two messages, the second of which was from the surgery: would Mr PB please phone back when he got the message. After sitting on hold with dreadful music playing in his ear, he learned that he's on the bit of the list that they've arrived at and would he go for a jag on Wednesday. Apparently the nurses may get to my year on Monday, so I might end up at the same time. Here's hoping. 

This, of course, is when I see that what I suspected all along is actually happening. The appointments aren't random, aren't a lottery except insofar as local differences mean different time scales. There is a plan, and so far it's holding. We were told mid-February for our deadline, and there's every sign that it'll be met. So even though I don't have my own appointment, I'm feeling less tetchy. 

Result, I think.

Blipping the far end of Loch Eck, using my zoom lens. I like the way the sections of the loch appear, like a carefully constructed watercolour.