Normal service

In many ways today could be thought of as being normal for me - normal in every respect except that I didn't get out for any kind of walk and as a result now have a sore head ... But the weather (even mistier and more dreich than yesterday, with a fine drizzle thrown in for good measure) and the dinner in mid-afternoon and choir practice - that was all there, all very usual. So what held me back?

Right. As I suggested yesterday, I felt the need of some rescue of my hair. Normally I'd be getting myself across to Greenock for the usual cut and colour, but I simply don't have the time this week - that ferry ride and bus or drive to Greenock means it's a whole morning or afternoon job, when I factor in the time taken in the hairdresser's. So after I'd tidied up breakfast I got out the bottles of colours and developer and the wee brush and the comb and set about doing the roots. And let's just say I made a better job of it than I did of the marmalade. 

In case anyone thinks something along the "daft old bat - why does she bother?" lines, I should perhaps point out that it's a matter of aesthetics. I don't have wonderfully white hair, and I don't have grey hair. I have dark hair at the back and pure white in blobs at the front and I don't think badger or skunk is a particularly pleasing look. Pentecostal red pleases me. I don't think I'd like purple. I feel better now. 

Other than that, I did some Italian, I made soup (damn - I need to zub it and put it in the freezer) and concocted a rather fine pasta with two sausages left over from yesterday and some of the wonderfully garlicky pesto I made last week, and then crashed in front of the latest episode of Happy Valley. That wasn't at all relaxing, but golly, it's good.

Choir saw the first full rehearsal since Christmas. We worked very hard on a piece by Durufle and finished off with some Leonard Cohen. We're revisiting Anthem - it seems to have an increased relevance since the last time we sang it. And now, after the soup is sorted, I shall once more treat myself to toast and marmalade ... natch.

Emergency blip from an unphotogenic day - my (huge) file of choral music, inside the piano stool that was my mother's.