Saturday 9th August 2025

It am the weekend. Again.

What should we do? Perhaps nothing.

As it was another heavy day for port traffic, we did little.

There's always the radio to entertain, or sit on the patio with Scully, until it got too hot.

Mornings mean the sun shines bathing the whole garden in hot sunshine, but as the sun passes over the yardarm, the shadow from the parasol protects us on the seats from the worst, and then later on the shadow from the hedge makes it even cooler.

The morning was just a preamble to the start of the football, three back-to-back games, starting at half twelve.

I could have gone out, but instead stayed in the cool of the house and watched footy.

Otherwise it was time spent researching feline diabetes, with more information, and the ability to post on a message board.

Second game was Norwich v Millwall.

A brave new era for Norwich, apparently, with new manager and several new high profile players.

City played well for 40 minutes, then ran out of puff. Millwall dominated, bullied then scored the first a few minutes into the second half.

Two minutes later Sarge levelled after charging down a clearance from the Millwall keeper, the ball bouncing into the goal off Sarge's bum!

But Norwich still didn't wake up, got caught out on the break time and time again, and was only a matter of time before Millwall scored the winner.

Which they did.

Dinner was garlic butter spatchcock chicken, new potatoes, corn and creamed spinach.

All delicious.

Bristol City thrashed Sheffield Wednesday in the evening, I then sat on the patio with glasses of whiskey waiting for the Sturgeon moon to rise at ten to ten.

It rose red and angry, but just hanging in the sky, like it was just hung there.