Returning to earth ...

I suppose it was reasonable that we should have felt tired today. Just another Sunday, a day in which there was nothing out of the ordinary except the extraordinary torpor which afflicted both of us. I suspect it is partly the drop in adrenaline level too - what my retired soldier friend refers to as "the sads" - to say nothing of the ibuprofen which I'm taking at night in an attempt to fix whatever has happened to my knee. Enough to say that I almost fell asleep during the Consecration prayer at church ... but didn't, and was able to sing. Can't kneel though - knee won't bend far enough.

We had a late lunch of a slice of the rather amazing pork pie that was part of Mr B's Fathers Day bag from the boys - it had "Dad" in pastry on the top and was very delicious. Then we both dozed off in an elderly fashion with the Observer, rousing ourselves at almost 5pm to go for a  walk by the sea to avoid the midges that had pounced on us at the church. (Church sits on a most tree-ish hill and is the midge capital of Dunoon.)

I woke myself up with the tension of the last episode of Time on BBC1 - what a good series. Because I was late starting it, we missed all the TV News, so heaven knows what's happening out there other than football. Meanwhile in Dunoon we're having a Covid spike that has affected several schools and at least one young friend, so that her family is in purdah. It's a bind, after so many weeks with no cases at all; guess this is when you know how far you trust the vaccine.

Blipping the night sky at midnight; I was locking up and felt drawn to linger in the decidedly chilly garden. I'll catch up with other blippers soon, I promise ...