Monday 2nd August 2021

Tell me why, I don't like Mondays?

Work, mainly.

Not that I don't like or mond work, its just getting in the way of my hobbies.

And being Monday, so not the weekend, the rain stopped and the sun was due to shine later.

Just my luck.

Jools was slow getting going, and did some meditation before going for a walk, and was surprised when she got back home and it was quarter to eight and was going to be late for work. I had been hard at it since seven. Hard at it, I tells you. She phones her boss and leaves.

I make breakfast, a thick slice of bread smorhtered with chocolate spread and a fresh coffee. Having access to delicious bread and nutella is nice but no good for my weight, if i'm honest. But its so chocolaty.

It is August, and yet holiday season is still under way in Denmark. Those who have been away for two or three weeks are back, but others have gone. My boss is still away for two weeks. It'll not surprise you to learn that my IT issues have not been fixed, so I exchange mails with someone in India or China and cope without access to 95% of the documents I need.

So, I have no choice but to work round them, but going is so slow.

I have some fruit mid-morning. Another coffee. And the day is progressing well, and outside the clouds had parted and there was a ball of gas in the sky.

Come three I am done for the day, hardly moved forward as far as work is concerend, so I go out to clear my head. Not far, but I have butterflies on my mind, so I will end up at Windy Ridge.

Instead of the usual way across the fields, I walk up Station Road, to the top of the down, and turn across the fields when I reach the aircraft beacon.

I had forgotten how much rain had fell on Sunday, and the ground was as muddy as it is in winter, very hard going, with pounds of mud clinging to my walking shoes. But there were dozens of butterflies. Nothing rare, but just the sheer number: Gatekeepers, Red Admirals, Small and Large Whites, Peacocks and a few Commas. I snap those I could.

I reached the wood, and I knew it would be even muddier, so turn down the hill, lingering where I saw the Queen of Spain last year, no sigh. Yet. And down the hill, past a couple of tatty Common Blues, through the mud at the bottom and up to Collingwood and home.

And an hour had passed.

I had made a ragu through the day, added some wild garlic sausages and made some garlic bread, in that I made a buttery garlic paste, smothered each side of two thick slices of bread and fry them in a pan. Garlicky and crispy.

And dinner was good.

Better than good. In fact.

It is cool in the evening, to cool to sit outside, Jools does some deadheading and I listen to the radio.

Another day done.