Thursday 22nd April 2021

Thursday.

All day.

And it is Jools' last day of work of the week, but not mine.

It was to be a glorious, if cool day, as before, but there was thestrong chance I would go out for a walk at some point. Maybe later.

I did sleep through the alarm once again, something I never used to do, so once I do stir, Jools had already been busy, feeding the cats, making coffee and once I was up, making the beds too.

At least I didn't have long to wait before work started, so I make a second brew and fire up the laptop to see what fresh hell work had to throw at me.

News was that work was OK, I just had three hours of meetings during the day, and two were related to data analysis. And oddly, I like such tasks, so its not all bad, but this would be on top of all the other tasks i have to do, and the estimate was for three days per month, the first three days, given over to this.

Eeek.

IN meetings I sound like I know what I'm talking about, though in reality most of it is guesswork, but they seem stasifed with my answers, and had some knowledge.

Wonders never cease.

I have breakfast with yet another coffee, and carry on working.

Lunch comes, I have the remainder of the sourdough bread, cut into slices, toasted, with cheese then used as spoons to eat the remainder of a tin of baked beans.

Classy.

There are two meetings in the afternoon, the last one ending at half three, meaning I can spring up, grab a coat, squeeze my walking shoes on and am all cameraed up and out the door in nearly ten minutes.

I don't go far, just along the street to the footpath, up that to check on the comfrey which is taking over the banks on either side of the path itself. It is Russian Comfrey, and is a favourite of the bees, who are swarming all over it. Swarming, well, crawling, drink on pollen and nectar.

Along Collingwood and out into the country. My foot seemed OK, but there was still a tightness, though I was able to tie the laces to their usual tightness, and not cause me to wince.

I walk to Fleet House, past the pig's copse, which is still pigless, unusual for this late in the year, and take the right turn down Norway Drove to look at The Dip, and take shots for its online fan club.

Shadows are lengthening, but it is bright. And dry. The mud at the bottom has turned to concrete.

That done, I turn from home, walking back past Fleet House, under the canpopy of branches with leaves just opening, and baying horses asking for some hay or attention.

Back home in time to make dinner. We were supposed to go out for a walk, but my foot was throbbing, and as I had done an hour, that would have to do, and as it turned out, Jools had dropped a colleague off at work on the way home, so she was late in coming home and hungry.

I make fritters, flavoured with curry powder, tumeric, pepper, orange juice and zest. I also add the leftover chorizo, chopped into small cubes.

The mix pade a large bowl of batter, which I fry in spoonful amounds, the curry powder turning the oil yellow, and filling the house with fine smells.

I was tempted by a glass of wine, but decide against it as my toe throbbed. I'm not cured yet, so have squash again.

We eat. Clear up. Make coffee. Listen to the radio.

No football to follow, watch or listen to. Just music, until I climb the wooden hill to bed.