Tuesday again

I've been smiling at some recent entries by friends on Blip in which they bemoan the tedium of their own writing but feel compelled to do it: I feel exactly the same. Perhaps I ought to try writing it earlier in the day, when the creative mind is still alive - but having kept a diary for over 65 years, I've traditionally associated it with bedtime. 

This photo, however, is of the morning. This is how my day starts, with a mug of Darjeeling carefully laid on my bedside table by Himself, who has taken himself down to the kitchen to make it. I'm amazed at the restorative effect of tea first thing - it does the trick for wakening me up, but I realise I need to have the time to enjoy it. And that's when I read some Blips, with my morning cuppa. So now you know.

I had my second poetry class today, enjoying it immensely. I chose two poems which I found went down very well with my middle school classes (aged 14 ish) and found that they seemed to go down well with my already accomplished group this morning. I love doing this, even if it leaves me pretty unfit for rational thought for hours afterwards.Then a quick dash along the road to the Co-op to buy a bottle of pectin, which I'd been unable to find on my regular shop. I'll tell you what happens next - but don't ask.

Choir was great tonight. We had such a laugh at the beginning that we could hardly sing - because we'd been talking about marmalade stress. Somehow this reduced every one of us to tears of mirth. And then we sang the Beatles' Blackbird (quite tricky) and How Can I Keep from Singing and worked hard and felt pleased. (At least, I did - I'm always pleased if my voice stays the course)

And now I'm off to eat toast and marmalade. Bought marmalade.

Enough.