Sunday 29th August 2021

Sometimes, its hard to say, exactly, when the season change. What I can say is that at about 14:00 on Sunday, summer ended and autumn arrived.

We have to have one of the living room windows open for the kittens, who are no longer kittens, but, you know. So, I sat in my jumper and shivered. Jools was out in the garden, sitting in what was left of the sunshine. Clouds rolled over and the breeze built up. Jools came in, and we agreed to close the windows and put the heating on.

IN an hour it was wonderfully warm.

But in August.

But, before then, it was still summer.

If only for a few hours.

Jools had a swimming session booked for seven, so I got her to drop her off at the Monument so I could walk down the cliffs to KIngsdown, looking for plant and butterflies.

If there had been butterflies to chase, I would have been delayed a while in KIngsdown, as it was, there were none, so I turned round to walk for home, meaning Jools didn't have to come to collect me, my fired fat legs would get me home.

Once through the gate on the cliffpath, I turn inland and take the path over the fields as signs advised going through Barrow Mount due to grazing cattle.

I pass a couple of people out looking for birds. THey ended up talking to each other babbling about wrynecks and other outlandish mythical birds. I left them babbling away as I walked back. There was a lady out just taking in the air, but she might have been looking for something, as I passed her on the way back to St Maggies.

THe light was spectacular at first, and there was even sunshine for a while, but not for long enough to tempt the roosting butterflies out for a bask.

The path over the fields was much less trodden, as the grass was very long, and damp with dew. So much so that my feet got soaked, so soaked I could feel the water in my socks and shoes, causing my toes to go all wrinkled, which I discovered back home.

The DIP was still overgorwn and still partly flooded at the bottom, but I could get through. Though my legs were a little sore.

Finally, past Fleet House, and then across the fields to home, where Jools was saiting to pop the kettle on for a brew and had even prepared the fruit ofr breakfast. Straight after the fruit, we heated up the crossants and brewed another coffee for second breakfast.

That hit the spot.

I sat down to write, edit some shots, and round off with a shower and shave, all ready in tme for the footy at two when I would try and fail to concentrate on Burnley v Leeds.

Leeds are always watchable, have fine skillful players. Burnley are a team of giants, who were fed raw meat and monkey glands before kick off, and crashed into tackles at every chance, and relied mostly on set pieces where their giant defenders would go up to threaten the Leeds goalie.

It ended 1-1, and I won't watch another Burnely game even if you paid me.

Depends on the amont of cash, of course.

That was followed by Wolves v Man Utd, which was a better game, though Wolves did all they could to score and when in front of goal create ever more bizarre ways to miss or fail to score. They should have won 3-0, so in reality lost 1-0.

We had cheese and crackers for supper, and somehow it was eight in the evening, and tme for #wildflowerhour, and after that it was nine and dark. Time for a chapter in the latest music book I'm reading.

The day was done.