Thursday 17th September 2020

Simultaneously the year is dragging and flying by. It is, apparently it is the 17th September, three months to Christmas. And oddly, we have money to travel, to almost anywhere in the world, and cannot go.

Its been a funny old year.

Of course, Jools is home on furlough again, so we can lay in bed until half five or even six if we get really lazy, and still give me two hours to be ready for work.

Big news today is that a skip is being delivered, so we can rid the garden of some odd bricks and lumps of concrete and other stuff, saving us from several trips to the tip, which in these times we can only go once every 14 days.

So we will have a skip, then try to fill it. Thing is, when you the stuff spread about it looks a lot, but it barely covered the bottom of the skip, so we offer the rest to Bev and Steve next door. It is soon full.

But that was in the afternoon when Le Tour was on, for now there is coffee, breakfast and another coffee.

Then work.

It is a bright but windy day outside, so I get stuck into the tasks of the day, creating a nice power point presentation that I can use to bore people next year.

Preparation is everything.

Jools goes to Tesco to get pickling supplies, as we have a glut of tomatoes, so she is going to make chutney.

I carry on working.

Once back, Jools collects all the tomatoes, adds fruit, onions and spices and boils, then simmers to get rid of excess water, then jars the gloop up.

Job done.

I make chicken flatbreads for lunch, with the leftover chicken, so salad and year old frozen flatbreads. It is a triumph.

Of course. Though would have been better with wine or beer.

To the sofa, for La Tour, and no calls or distractions today, as the races heads up crazy mountains and along gravel tracks. It is exciting.

And at half four it is all over, I put the radio on and chop and boil potatoes for chorizo hash. The rest is fried and stored before the potatoes are put in the spicy oil and cooked until golden and crispy.

Another thriumph.

And that it it for another day. More music and writing in the evening, until its bedtime at nine.