Wednesday 6th May 2020

Middle of the week, literally, as it appears we have Friday off, in which to "celebrate" VE day, which originally called Victory in Europe Day, but which the Daily Hate Mail now calls "Victory over Europe". See what they did there?

I have little energy to celebrate VE day. It wasn't a thing until the 50th anniversary, some 25 years ago, and now it is an excuse for the Little Englanders to march up and down believing that England, and it is always England, stood alone. Squadrons of Polish and east European pilots ignored.

But that is for Friday, but Wednesday is a rest day, meaning I can relax in the morning. But what the pandemic has brought is a surfeit of podcasts and Youtube videos.

A Word in your Attic was begat by A Word in Your Ear, which in turn was begat by The Word Magazine. David Hepworth and Mark Ellen talk to friends and former coleagues from the music business, from their attics or libraries or record vaults, and time just slips away.

This morning it was Danny Kelly's turn, a white bloke from London who is obsessed with reggae music, and once paid a grand for three rare Bob Marley albums.

I make breakfast and second coffee, then listen to the second half of the chat, and rather marvelous it was too.

I am all ready to start work at twenty past seven, logged in and first in the morning meeting. And once again we are all still well. Turns out we miss pubs and friends.

Who knew?

And then onto work.

And I have the task of more document updating. A meeting just after lunch to discuss the latest changes.

I have to admit, its not a high stress job, but a year after my breakdown, I am very happy to be where I am now. Those dark days seem a million miles from then. Which is a very good thing indeed. Needless to say.

An early lunch of cheese toasties is called for, then I decide to clear my head with a walk.

I take the cameras, myself over the field to Fleet House.

Nothing new seen, but it felt warmer and the wind less keen. Which is really good.

Along the lane, I think I saw a Large Tortoiseshell lift into the air and fly away. It was all so quick, I had no chance to take a shot, but a large orangy-brown butterfly, taking to the treetops. And was gone.

I check with my back, and it seemed OK, so I walked down past the farm, then up the long slope up to Windy Ridge beyond. I spoke to a lady, moved to the village a few months back, and still trying to find where all the lanes go. I told her how to get to the Monument, and then back to the village.

I walked on to the wood, then taking the gallop, though not galloping myself, went through the wood.

I hoped to see an orchid there one day. There are anemones, bluebells, so why not orchids? Because the bluebells are mostly hybrids. That's why!

Halfway along, I leave the wood to walk down the lane that runs beside it. Its a suntrap and I hoped to see some butterflies. But I see none. But it is a suntrap and is warm, bordering on hot.

I reach the road leading back home, down from the down to Collingwood, past the midden and back home.

I had been gone just an hour.

I make a brew, catch up on my mails and work.

At half two the cats begin singing for their tea.

I ignore them, but they do sing loud. I give them some kibbles, and that keeps them quiet for a while.

Work finishes, I pack up work.

I patrol the garden for new plants, an I find one. Six in fact: (Common) Sorrel, nothing spectacular, but another native species for the garden.

Dinner is to be simple: pizza and beer. This is the last time we have shop bought pizza, next week we will be making our own. I add sliced chorizo on both pizzas, then once Jools gets home I put the first in the oven, and Jools pours me a large glass of Leffe Brown. Leffe is OK, and for a beer to go with pizza, its perfect.

It is the evening.

We have coffee. And sticky toffee cookie. We didn't need it, but it was there, in the kitchen. Calling us to eat it.

And that is that.

More of the same until nine when we go to bed, with it again not being quite dark outside.

Phew.