Wednesday 8th April 2020

Rest day.

I was aware that more of my colleagues will have gone on early Easter vacation, meaning the day would be quiet. And as a result of the poor VPN Jools had on Monday, she was going into work rather than stay and struggle on at home. Whether this is a permanent thing, we shall have to see.

But it did mean Jools up early to get ready, and I would sleep through the alarm.

Now, you would think that not having any phys to do, I would be ahead and all ready for work having had first and second coffee and breakfast. But truth is, I got sidetracked. Jools asked me to put out the seedlings from the shed so they could get hardened off. And then it was so easy to sit and watch the birds coming to feed. I also fill up the ponds, and in the process surprise the frog in the top pond who stuck his head out of the water to see what was going on.

And so to work.

I switch the laptop on, still working, and check my mails: nothing. At all.

I check Skype to see who was still in work and logged on. No one. No one I could have a non-worked based conversation anyway.

Outside it was the warmest day of the year, and soon before lunch, I decided to pack up me troubles and go for a stomp. Despite living in the country and there being a number of tracks and paths, there isn't a huge variety of routes, and as driving to somewhere else to walk is somewhat frowned upon, I decide to walk back up to Windy Ridge in case I missed some orchids.

I knew I hadn't, but still.

I take my cameras: now, some botanists and twitchers are leaving their gear behind when they go out for a walk. Why? You are allowed to go out for a walk, if you happen to stop and snap flowers, that is not a crime. Buying the flowers a drink is.

So, I take me gear.

I see little new, just a Herb Robert near to the butterfly glade, though in the glade there were no butterflies.

I go down the slope, past the farm, then up the long slope towards the mill, passing by dog walkers and a couple of folks on horses. We are polite, wish each other a happy day, from a distance, and move on.

Into the wood, I follow a different track from last time, see some Lesser Celandines, the largest I have ever seen, but on my picture, they look the same size. Oh well.

Out of the wood and along the track beside it, I finally see a butterfly on the ground. Now is my chance. I had yet to snap one this year!

I am slipping.

I couldn't get too near it, but make a couple attempts before I let it be. Its a start.

And then it was time to head for home, down onto Collingwood then down to our street, back home.

I check work mails.

Nothing.

So, I have lunch. A brew.

Then after munching my way through toasted cheese sarnies, I go into the garden to sit and read, trying to ignore the noise coming from next door.

Don't ask.

Anyway, I read the Rail magazine and half of the new WSC.

It was two in the afternoon.

Where does the time go?

I spend the rest of the afternoon boiling chicken thighs for dinner, 90 minutes later frying bacon, onions and rice, before tipping those in the pan filled with chicken and boiling water, the oil and water meet, mix and have an argument, fizzing and spitting in a cloud of steam.

All the liquid was soaked up by the time Jools came home, meaning all I had to do was serve up. Thing is, I like the chicken falling off the bone, but the result is a brown sludge, I mean it tastes fine, but wouldn't win Masterchef.

And that is it.

The usual stuff in the evening; radio, writing and more coffee drinking. But I am pooped, so go to bed at nine, having only just managed to stay awake.