washing on the washing line
creamy white poppies
bright orange poppies
and listening to birds in my garden click to listen
I have so much “stuff” to do at work that I went in yesterday from 10 to 5.30. Then I came home and did some gardening.
Today I have no energy or strength to do anything other than ruminate about a few of my favourite things and all of more or less withing arms length of my armchair. I haven’t even been shopping this week so the family will just have to starve (Note to any health visitors reading this: all members of this household are over 16, apart from Gilman the rabbit and I am feeding him.)
I’m almost done with Pelagia now and the book picked up speed. I would have finished it on the way home, yesterday, but travelled with a lovely Parisian “velcro” friend of mine and overtaxed the mind muscles by conversing in French with her. This occupation consists of me moving closer and closer to her lips in the hope that by making the distance between her lips and my ears shorter there will be less chance of words going astray. Last time we journeyed together I was so transfixed by her osculatory muscles that we had gone through three stations before I realised we were on the wrong train.
Iin a previous post I likened some elements of the book to a Midsomer Murder but on reflection a comparison with a Poirot episode would be more fitting.