Shades of ...

Why is this retired life becoming more occupied than ever? Should it not be winding down into the sere, the yellow leaf? Why do I not sit in a rocking chair by my fire (though I see they think Shetlanders at least will have to revert to burning peat rather than pay for the fuel they require for their winter) and knit and dispense wise words intermittently?

Well. For a start I don't knit. I used to be able to, but I don't ever do it. Today was certainly not the day to start. First I had a doctor's appointment, followed by my painting class, followed by an abortive attempt to pick up my normal, regular prescription from the pharmacy that made such a mess of things a month ago. (Their efforts to sort things have blown the system, or something.) Then we had to eat dinner (cos it's choir night) and grab an hour in front of the 6 o'clock news, which is where I learned the interesting facts about the cost of heating houses in Shetland. And then choir, and here I am swiftly blipping before I have some oatcakes or something suitably wholesome and take myself off to bed with my book. 

My photo is the only one I took today other than one of my pudding. As we left the church hall where we rehearse, I was struck by the absurdity of the big free car park across the road, illuminated as if for a football match. Because of council cuts, it's not weeded any more, and for some reason has been colonised by great clumps of pampas grass. I haven't seen so much since we were driven down the coast road south of Monterey. Maybe we could tart it up a bit by calling it 'rewilding'? 

So. Shades of night are falling fast over the shades of California.