Low ebb

I found it quite hard to get out of bed this morning; the stimulus of getting going on the holiday refund yesterday had been replaced by the dread of the paperwork required for an insurance claim for my flights to London and I didn't get started on it until after elevenses, taken in the sunny garden and therefore protracted. In the end I had to save, convert, print and scan eleven sides of forms, booking notifications and letters and include them all on an email; this took me about two hours of stress and cajoling the printer to work (it needs the coloured ink renewed) and then turn into a scanner that could recognise my computer. By the time I was finished I was an irritable rag.

We had a late and fairly minimal lunch in the garden, neither of us feeling like having anything, and then I fell asleep in the sun while Himself went indoors to do likewise. Then, driven by some inbred insanity, we went down to the Ardyne (again) and walked along the shore track beside one of the lowest tides I've ever seen here. If you look carefully at the photo, you'll perhaps see a man with two dogs, though one of them is so small as to be virtually invisible; he's not walking on water, but where the sea meets the rippled, worm-cast-riddled sand.

The day ended in a struggle to cook, eat and drag ourselves upstairs to bed. Only, as you now realise, I'm not in bed but in the study, writing. I'm sorry I've been such an un-inquisitive blipper this past week, leaving far too many journals unvisited: I'll be back, I promise.

Just let me get my mojo back ...