Crying in the Rain

Today’s title is in memory of Don Everly, who passed away at the weekend. It also fits in neatly with this shot of raindrops left on the plants this morning. Only just got them in time as the sun has returned with a vengeance and was drying everything up at a rapid rate of knots.
Walked down into town for my appointment with Dr Death - sorry, the dentist - trying to time my arrival exactly for my appointment time so that only the minimum amount of time had to be spent in the torture chamber - sorry, surgery.
Despite some worrying muttering about my gums and the agony of having the bits of plaque and tartar removed that I’d not managed to dislodge through brushing, I was basically given a clean bill of health and sent on my way within twenty minutes. Though not before I’d been relieved of £106 for the experience.
To celebrate avoiding fillings - and as a reward for being a big, brave soldier - I met Mrs C for breakfast at M&S. In deference to my newly cleaned and scraped teeth I eschewed the normal bacon bun in favour of a toasted tea cake. And, apart from a visit to the framers to drop off something I’ve been meaning to have framed for nearly thirty years (never let it be said I rush into these things), the rest of the day was spent slumped on the settee. Though we did manage an hour in the gym before tea. A very hot and sweaty session, but I did manage a PB on squats.
Fun fact. On the day I was born, the number one single in the charts was “Cathy’s Clown” by the Everly Brothers. Eighteen years later, I met - and subsequently married - the love of my life, aka Mrs C. Whose name is Cathy.
Which, if you believe in destiny, makes me a - well, you can work it out for yourselves!