Lying low

After our junketings last night, I needed another day under the radar. When Himself went off to church this morning, I went back to bed. Set my watch to alarm me at 11.30 (when church service usually ends) and slept, like on a real old-fashioned sickie. Before this I'd tested myself again for Covid (just in case, because my cough is so alarming) and sent a photo of the negative test to my friend Di, with the result that she arrived after church in time for coffee and a catch-up. And one of the church wardens rang me just to see if I was all right - it's nice to know that there's a community noticing you're not there when for much of life post-retirement there can be the sense that no-one really knows where you ought to be at any given time ...

Lunch was late and consisted of the punnet of mushrooms I didn't need to buy, fried in olive oil with a bit of garlic and some marjoram and dumped on buttered home-made toast. It was strangely delicious. I dozed a bit over the Sunday papers, before rousing myself to shove some clothes in a bag so that we have some chance of getting away tomorrow. And later still we went for a walk along the shore, where I took this random photo of what in the garden would be an annoying weed but which in this context struck me as bold and jolly. We met a couple we often meet, so that we really know a great deal about each other's present lives just through these chance meetings, and stood in the sun for too long, just blethering. 

There have been some lovely pink clouds tonight, but they didn't last long - the kind that have the most fragile beauty just before the sun finally sinks below the place where it has power to beautify.