A late blether ...

I rarely do this - not write my blip on the correct day - unless I'm truly poorly (once, or perhaps twice, last year) or somehow, madly, travelling all night. This time I have no excuse other than the fact that I was comatose and it was past midnight, the dread hour when Backblaze kicks in to back up my files and slows everything down so that I lose patience and thereby posts (as happened just the other day). Anyway ...

I shopped early. It had been drizzling, and the world was grey and muggy, the shelves empty as usual. The usual Handmaid's Tale experience, really. Breakfast quickly became elevenses, with a quick burst of Italian to separate the two. I didn't take my prescription request to the surgery as planned, nor did I go to the Health Shop. I footered on the computer instead. 

After lunch we went to church to rehearse something new for Sunday - a wee composition of Himself's that he'd enlarged with the help of me and Psalm 91. It's lovely. By then the sun was shining brightly, and I spent some time trying to capture the effect in the narthex that used to be the Lady Chapel but is now where the congregation gather for coffee. I sat on the new bench in the graveyard until Himself was finished; took some more photos; felt at home. Then we went, tediously, back down to Toward and walked along the beach road, eventually clambering down onto the beach because the sea was calling irresistibly to my hot feet. Himself perched himself on a log and I wandered about in the shallow sea, enjoying the soft, dark sand after the jagged barefoot experience of getting there. I think I felt that if my feet became cold enough I'd feel it less on the way back ...

Dinner was insanely late because I had a message from a former pupil of Himself's from way back in the 70s - could we have a chat? He lives in the USA, so we rarely meet up, but we talked on FaceTime for an hour before I realised the time. I sometimes think it's worth being on Facebook for that power even if for nothing else - it's great to see who you're chatting to. Full of food, I saw a bit of Andy Murray's farewell to professional tennis ("I never really liked tennis anyway"!) and managed to miss most of the depressing news by the simple expedient of falling asleep. By the time I moved to go to bed I was beyond coherence and the blip remained unblipped. 

Sic transit gloria ...