Wednesday 8th July 2026

And again, we have reached the middle of the week.

Is it me or do the weeks roll round quicker and quicker, or is it just because we're retired?

On December 31st I will have completed my picture a day project for an entire decade, which will be some 3,650 or so days.

Quite the feat.

Several times this month we have remarked to each other, in a sarcastic manner, how shit retirement is.

It isn't, obviously.

In the past, I would take my laptop onto the sofa to watch the Le Tour live feed, pressing a random key to make it look like I was still online.

Now I can take up my seat ten minutes before the grande depart, and watch the whole race, only getting up to pull a cold beer from the fridge.

Life is, indeed, grand.

Wednesday started with a check on the moth trap, and was delighted to find two Elephant hawk-moths and a selection of the usual suspects, but best was a fine Scarlet tiger.

Having gone on walks the last two days, and with temperature rising and winds falling, I decided against it.

So, after breakfast and a brew, and with Jools in town on one of her keep fit classes, I went down to the shelter with a fresh brew and sat in the shade to admire the vista up to Chez Jelltex.

I sat there for some time. Jools returned, and came and joined me with a fresh brew in hand and with ice creams.

Pistachio ice creams.

As my Old Dad would have said: "Where do you thin you are, on your Father's yacht?" Still not sure what he meant, but it seems fitting.

Le Grande depart was just after one, so enough time to make lunch: garlic breaded chicken, boiled Jersey Royals, and creamed spinach. But no beer, just iced squash.

And then to the cycling, which was a standard "rest" day, in which the peloton cruised over the rolling farmland of Nouvelle-Aquitaine, the last piece of France tat was under English rule, and home of Elanor.

I was worn out just watching them, and the poor guy, Baptiste Veistroffer, who was ordered to make a break at the start and no one joined him, so was on his own. On his own for nearly 160Km until the remainder of the peloton caught him.

And for the evening, there was NO FOOTBALL! Just for one day, so we listened to music, and simmered in the evening humidity until it was gone eight and seemed late enough to go to bed.

Would sleep come quickly?