O wild ...north wind! *

Breath of Autumn's being it may be, but the wind - currently blowing a hoolie outside - has gone into the north and the idea of sitting in the garden for lunch, as we did yesterday, seems a distant dream. It wasn't quite so gurly in the morning, though when someone sitting behind me in church decided he was too hot and unilaterally switched off the overhead radiant heater, on for the first time since Spring, I felt the instant chill of the air from the tower and succumbed to a moment of unchristian loathing ...

That feeling, I have to say, was dissipated by an excellent sermon - a personal, relevant sermon on the story of Dives and Lazarus, in itself a powerful contrast to the current political direction of the benighted and not-so-united kingdom. Not for the first time I reflected on how fortunate we are in the kind of people, ordained and lay, that we have in our congregation to step up when our shared Rector's away. 

As my pal Di is currently off on holiday we were stuck with ourselves for coffee, which was swiftly consumed with the urgency of the addict before we moved on to lunch. As the weather worsened, we dozed over the Sunday papers, until I was summoned by text to take a look at and comment on my oldest grandchild's discursive essay. It's such a mature piece of work now - it's the one on vaping that I've mentioned before - that there was little work for me to do, and I was able to wonder at how the delightful small girl who seems to have only just been here has become such a thoughtful - and able - adolescent. Life is so short - and the longer the telescope the shorter it seems. 

We waited, typically, until the weather was at its most hellish before deciding we needed some fresh air and exercise to set us up for dinner. The aim of the walk was the Co-op, to buy one thing I'd not thought of, and in the course of the round trip we were both thoroughly soaked. That's when I took my only photo of the day: this beautiful tree, coming into its autumnal colours, in the garden of the big house at the end of our lane. This is the place where the maniac cowboy developer from hell (as distinct from the neighbour from hell) spent months burning god-knows-what from the house on a constantly-smouldering pyre just under this tree. The leaves all shrivelled and died and we feared he might finish it off after he'd cut down every other tree in the garden, so we're happy to see its resurrection. You may notice the rather odd feature of a wooden fence between tree and garage: the developer put it up and then sold the garage to a car wash, which now operates at the end of the lane. I'd not have bought the house in such circumstances, but as a very pleasant couple did and are good neighbours to have - as is the car wash man - I'm not commenting beyond this blip. 

The jag saga seems to be receding, I'm happy to say; another week or so and the Covid one will be ready to defend me in the face of another trip to Italy. Apparently Puglia was having heavy rain today ...

Enough already. G'night.



*With apologies to Shelley