Sunday 23rd August 2020

Still, still ill.

Urgh.

I was feeling a little better. Not much, but some.

And there was an early start for us, and Betty's granddaughter, Sam decided to go home to the north west, as the pretty grim diagnosis of two weeks ago has given way to one that might take months to play out.

Public transport still doesn't seem that safe, so Jools said she would take her to Crewe and her husband could pick her up there.

Which meant I would be home alone. Again. On kitty and cat sitting duties.

I sleep through the alarm, and was woken by Jools telling me she was off and there was a coffee waiting for me downstairs. It took a long time for me to wake up, getting my mojo back.

I get dressed, go downstairs whit two little feline faces keeping an eye on me.

They wanted to play. I wanted coffee.

I drank coffee.

But I perked up. I played with the kittens for half an hour, and they never ran out of energy. Unlike me.

At nine, I was hungry. I make toast and marmalade and have another brew.

I had been up three and a half hours but had achieved little.

Come eleven, and Radcliffe and Maconie had ended, there was no excuse to loll around all day. I went outside to plant the last two of the Viper's Bugloss.

The phone goes; Jools is in Nantwich, and about to start driving south, she might be back by three, I thought.

Drive safe, I say.

Back in the garden, I scarify the lawn again. In particular the west side near the hedge, as this grows very lushly, and I want to fix that. It requires more scarifying, raking, brushing. I get several Kgs of debris and dead plant matter, and can see bare soul. Should be much less lush next year.

I am pooped. Again.

The sunny start had clouded over, so I go inside and quickly get sidetracked by watching podcasts and videos of rarely used freight lines in the US. I know how to party.

The kittens had been asleep all day, but they soon wake up, and when hungry are very loving; meowing and chirping for something to eat.

So begins the madness that is feeding all four felines at once. I am halfway through when Jools rings: she's about an hour away. There are cats and food everywhere.

"How are the cats?"

Mad.

With Jools back in Kent, I prepare dinner: steak and ale pie, roast potatoes, steamed vegetables and the beef gravy we had not used the week before.

I realise I was very hungry.

Which I decide was a good thing.

Dinner is just about ready when Jools gets back at just gone five, I finish off the roast potatoes, and dish up. Jools open the chilled bottle of fizz, and we eat.

Lovely.

Evening is spent watching the European Cup Final on YouTube. They call it the Champion's League, but its the European Cup trophy, so that's what it is.

Bayern and PSG play out for the biggest prize in European football in an empty stadium in Portugal. Even with fake crowd noise it seems oddly devoid of passion. A close and tense game, won by a single goal for Bayern.

You'll be glad to know next season's competition, or is this this season's? Does it matter?

It was dark by quarter past eight, needed the table light on by half seven. Four months to Christmas.

Get your sprouts on.

Poppy brought in her own food last night.

I thought it was a bird or a mouse. I was half right, it was a cooked chicken quarter.

I chased her upstairs and took it way from her and put it in the bin.

She went back out.

Two minutes later she came back with a cooked slice of gammon ham.

She dropped it at my feet.

No idea where she got these from.

But good work.