The good life

There's an owl hooting to my left, a huge dragonfly darting about on my right, the sound of Mr B playing some Carole King tunes on the piano is floating through the door, and I can smell dinner cooking.

I slept 12 hours (almost) straight last night and, aside from an agreeable ache from a couple of hours of digging over vegetable beds, have spent the rest of the day on the terrace chatting about everything and nothing.

When you ignore the toothache, life's pretty good.