Tuesday 27th March 2018

And here we are, day 4 of the long weekend. And the rain fell. In stairrods.

Did I want the car?

No.

Upon reflections I would revert to my 17 year old self and just spunk the day in generally doing nothing. Although unlike my 17 year old self, I have the internet.

Are you sure you don't want the car?

Yes, I'm sure.

Jools made coffee, I slumped in the chair at the table, checking online and find that my shot of the fields at Westcliffe had make Explore. I should be pleased, and actually I am this time as it was a reasonable shot for a change. Unlike that crap shot of the duck house that made it, and yet that still got 10k views. Ingrates all of them. Love your work they say. I wouldn't mind, but of the 25 shots I took on that walk, I can say the shot of the duck house was, without doubt, the worse.

But the field shot made it.

Yay.

Jools goes to work, Mooly is sleeping on the window sill, Mulder is snoring on the chest of drawers and Scully is back on the bed. Situation normal. I put on Danny Baker and make oatcakes with butter and extra special three orange marmalade, because I am worth it I tell myself. And outside the rain hammers down.

I don't know what I did exactly, but it took me all day to do it: I watch a show on Japanese housing through the centuries, learn about Ma and negative space and end up ordering an art book on tiny apartments that was in the show. I am cultured, I tell myself.

In the afternoon I spend with Lucy Worsley, she talks about the Regency period, of Kingly madness and corsets. Which is fine.

Heck, I even do another session on the cross trainer, with a Prince soundtrack. But it were hard, not enjoyable, and I was glad to finish. But then, I did it.

Late in the afternoon the rain stops and for a while, the sun comes out I lepa into action, run in the garden to take shots of raindrops on plants and of Mulder doing cat yoga. God I love them cats.

As the chairman of the aubergine marketing board, I prepare two of my finest, sexiest purple vegetables to be sliced, egg and breadcrumbed and then shallow fried to a near crisp, just ready in time for when Jools comes home. I made the pasta salad the day before, and both were kick ass.

Of course.

We drink wine. Or chider. Then tidy up and I then take to the sofa to watch England play Italy, and well, meh. Is meh still a thing? Not a good game, England sloppy, which show the high standards they have set for themselves. And then bedtime. Phew.