Bringing in the Hay

Bringing in the hay always used to be a fun time. Old style balers, old style oblong bales, stacked in nines and as many hands as possible to get it on the trailer and back to the shed. Old style balers are not so common these days but Clint has one. The field, the one in front of the country housing estate used to belong to Johnny, Bert's father and Bert said that when he and Johnny went to bring in the hay at least ten or more youngsters from the estate would appear just for the fun of the thing to help and to get a ride on the trailer. Nowadays that field belongs to Clint and the young ones aren't interested in riding on trailers and bringing in the hay. The only helpers Clint could get tonight were over sixty.

Bert knew it was coming up. He warned Clint.

I don't know that I'll be much help to you. My knees are murdering me.

Clint said,

Huh! We'll be some crew. Murray's got a bad heart, I can't get a breath and you can hardly walk.

The call came and it was the loveliest evening. Balmy, a slight breeze, a promise of rain to come. I was tempted to join them. Decades since I helped to bring in hay but I remembered it as being enjoyable.

Bert said,

Are you sure? You might hurt your back...

I decided against it.

Then Banjo Man turned up. Needing to speak to Bert about getting the shed delivered. We drove down to the hay field. I tried a bale. Not too heavy. We gathered a few, Banjo Man and I. He was worried he might break a nail on his picking finger but he didn't. Shed talk over we dismissed him. He had been working hard in Dublin all week while the rest of us (not Clint) were lazing in the sun. I stayed. Murray and I soon realised at 65 and 73 respectively that working together we achieved more than struggling to lift heavy bales on our own.

It was so satisfying and all finished well before nine o'clock. A field of bales gathered and loaded. There was a time when I'd have expected a lot more of a Friday night than an hour or two of hard physical work. But... when a body is 65 or older the pure joy of it is still being able to do it.

Blue Sky Day

A shortie with photies. Nellybert took the dogs for a walk on the beach at the gloriously, beautiful Whitepark Bay and Bert used his backpack, a backpack so sadly missed on our trip to Rathlin Island. In it, he carried a bottle of water, two mandarin oranges and binoculars. And, whilst on the beach, a pair of Converse and some stripey socks.  

Here Bert throws a stick for the dogs. I told him that his stick-throwing is of a standard that is positively Olympian. For husbands with dodgy knees need to have their spirits raised.

No sign of sore knees here although none of this pack are getting any younger.

Results

Early summer is usually a very positive time for me what with longer days, warmer weather,  growing things and observing wildlife. It's not been like that this year for I've been feeling a bit rough, a bit elderly these past weeks. There was a viral infection followed by another viral infection and my chronic Brexititis. Sleep patterns were disrupted and I was feeling well below par. So I sought medical advice and today I had my final results.

The good stuff. I am not pre-diabetic, my thyroid activity is normal and my blood pressure is excellent. I was measured and have not shrunk. Still exactly the same height as when I was eighteen. 5 foot 2 and a half inches. I always stressed that half an inch.

The not so good stuff. My cholesterol is slightly higher than it should be although I do have lots of good cholesterol. Who knew there was such a thing as good cholesterol? I got weighed and I'm obese. I suspected that anyway. So now when people lie to me, saying

You're not fat.

I shall counter this by saying,

You are wrong for I have it on the best medical authority that I am actually obese. But, hey, who cares! At least I haven't shrunk!

It's one of my favourite things telling people that they are wrong. That, and still being 5 foot 2 and a half inches.

And this.

A Catch Up

Wednesday: On this day I was supposed to keep Hannah company as she travelled a job interview in a far away town. This was cancelled due to her being offered another job in a nearby town. So I went to the Tannaghmore funeral with the young brother. The man whose funeral it was came from a big connection. The priest who conducted the funeral Mass was from the United States, a friend of the family, his people originally from Ireland. Father Pat Universal. That is a name with a ring to it. The service was beautiful, very life-affirming. Nick Cave said recently that atheism is bad for songwriting. I get that. Cave goes on, "It doesn't matter whether God exists or not - we must reach as if he does." That resonates for me. I don't know if God exists, but I want to live as if he does.

Thursday: Roy was poorly so we took him to the local vet in Portglenone. What was wrong with him? He was spooked, edgy, couldn't settle, wanted to be outside all the time, wanted to be given a lot of attention. Not himself. The vet gave him a thorough examination. The only issue was a raised temperature, and him being a big fat boy. The vet thought he might have a high temp because of inflammation in his joints and gave him a shot of something anti-inflammatory. What about his weight? Should we put him on a reducing diet? Oh no. There is no point, he is too old. What about treats? Should he have less treats? Oh no. Give him a couple of treats a day. I love this new vet. The shot worked its usual magic and old Roy is back to normal. Often I think that animal medicine is much better than human medicine. We should all go to the vet.

Friday: I worked in the garden and enjoyed it very much. My energy levels are back to normal. Those blood tests I took? The only thing mildly problematical was my cholesterol levels. I have an appointment to see the practice nurse on Tuesday for blood pressure and advice.

Today: More garden work and I cooked a leg of lamb. A few slices for supper and I shall make curry with the leftovers. And always - checking out the pollinators.

.
 

Leftovers

Today was interesting, at least what passes for interesting in the Nellybert household, for I had Things To Do. The first thing was the purchase of two Mass Cards from Portglenone Abbey for Jazzer and I were going to a wake. The man whose wake it was, God rest his soul, had no need of Masses but it is a nice thing to do for the family and the gratuity given to the monks helps them in their work. Whilst at Portglenone I also bought a rather woody bacopa for £1.99 which I straightaway took cuttings from and, if all goes well, the grace of God and all that, I should finish up with about twenty quids worth of bacopa.

I then received a call from Jazzer who informed me that she had a fourth grandchild safely delivered, a boy, who might be called George, or Luke, or Jude. I hope it is Jude as I am feeling very Catholic today and there are always desperate cases and lost causes to worry about, Brexit never being far from my mind.

This newly arrived boy, George, Luke or Jude might look something like this.

This is a photograph of his mum when she was a baby and the very first picture I ever took of her. She was and still is a character.

Such a busy day yet I had dinner plans. We'd have the leftover and very excellent Fish Pie with extra vegetables. I forgot to inform Bert of this plan as I was busy. Busy as a bee.

Time to go to the wake. I picked Jazzer up and off we set. Wakes in the afternoon can be rather laid back for that is when all the old people go, all doddering around on sticks and so. Not that Jazzer and I are doddery, the timing just so happened to fit with our busy, busy day. Jazzer busy welcoming a new grandchild, me busy taking bacopa cuttings.

There is a notion that strong drink is taken at Irish wakes but that is not usual in the community I come from. Our wakes are famous for tea, sandwiches and traybakes. I was rather looking forward to that as I hadn't had much lunch. But when the nieces came round with the teapots, the good china and the edibles I was chatting to one of the brothers and before I could respond Madam Jazzer had indicated that we would not be taking refreshments as she (and I may have referred to this before) has a horror of eating anything that she has not prepared herself. I could have choked her. I did manage to get a cup of tea, and very delicious it was too, but hadn't the face to tramp into the kitchen demanding egg and onion sandwiches. Still, as I said to Jazzer on the way out,

Sure it will give me a better appetite for the Fish Pie.

She said,

How much do I owe you for the Mass Card?

I said,

A bottle of wine should cover it.

Mrs Banjo Woman delivered home and then the long drive home for me. (I went by Kells.) All the while pondering on which vegetables we should have with the Fish Pie. I was almost decided on frozen petit pois.

Home. At last. And there is Bert setting off for his evening walk up the back lane, four dogs at his heel.

I called,

Shall I heat up the Fish Pie?

Bert isn't that keen on leftovers but I was determined to sell it to him, knowing he'd enjoy it. I had already decided to tempt him with Maris Piper chips if he demurred. I'd not have chips, just the petit pois and the leftover carrots and broccoli slices.

He answered,

I ate it.

Me.

All of it?

Bert.

Aye.

I could have choked him.

But I consoled myself with the thought that I can make another Fish Pie. And after I supped on bread and cheese I ate both of the tiramisus that I'd bought in Lidls on the way home. They were very nice but not as good as the Fish Pie would have been.

The Greedy Bees

It's almost fit to be seen. Just need the pictures up, the cat's footprints on the sills sandpapered and retouched and an oven glove that isn't red. We had our first family meal in the newly decorated kitchen this evening. Fish pie (Mary Berry recipe) with hard-boiled eggs, just like the Chamberlains do it. All agreed that fish pie must always and ever more contain hard-boiled eggs. Dessert was raspberry and apple crumble with custard. Evie helped Bert make the custard then dished up, a job she enjoyed very much.

Meanwhile, out in the garden, I noticed a big dark splodge on new flowers on my Cephalaria gigantea. Closer inspection showed the splodge to be three bumblebees feeding. Three hours later they were still there partying away drunk on pollen, or nectar or something delicious. I checked the flower out on the RHS site as this is my first year with it and it is an absolute bee and beneficial insect magnet. I am delighted. Also, it self-seeds readily. Prepare your plots, nearby friends and family for this is a plant I intend to share.

Six o'clock

Nine o'clock

It's nearly half past ten now and they are still there. But it's getting too dark for a decent photo so you will just have to take my word for it.

Shed Building

Bert and Ben spent most of the weekend building a garden shed for Jazzer. They make a good team. Meanwhile, Marty finished painting the kitchen while Jazzer and I went to the garden centre. I was too weary to do anything else. I look at other people and wonder where they get the energy from, for mine is seriously depleted.

They just fitted it together to see if the roof and it will be dismantled and transported to its new home by lorry. Jazzer is very excited and is already choosing curtain material. Curtains? I don't even have curtains in my new kitchen.

New kitchen photographs? When I can get it shipshape. Then there will be photographs.

Oh To Be A Bumble Bee

I spoke to my GP this morning. She is a brisk lady and I like her yet if I meet her outside the doctor/patient sphere I generally pretend not to have seen her. Reasons to talk to GP?

Feeling tired most of the time.

Virus infection that has lasted more than three weeks.

Have no clue what my BP, cholesterol levels are or whether or not I'm pre-diabetic.

Recent reduction of sugar and alcohol. Yes, doctor, I was stress eating and drinking too much and when I stopped I felt great for about two days, then slumped into lethargy.

Panic attacks. Mild enough but horrible too. The last one was Saturday when Swisser was going on (and on) about all the health issues she has and that I might have too.

So the GP asked me to call to the surgery for bloods. I did and got a slightly dour nurse. She laid out four little collection tubes and I thought I was going to be injected four times. Seems like I' m thick as well as sick. She said,

Just a wee scratch.

I said,

God! You're good at that!

She was dour no more. And she was good at it.

Swisser says that sugar is good and doesn't make anyone fat. I said,

I prefer my opinion to yours.*

She's not even a nuclear physicist. Merely a professor working in the food science field,

Yet were I a tired and lethargic bumble bee, sugar would be just the thing to cure my ills.

When I came in from the garden yesterday this one was clinging to my sweater and hardly fit to move. A few drops of sugary water and its energies were restored. If only that would work for me.

*Chernobyl, Sky Atlantic. Very good.

Family

The trip to deepest, darkest Norfolk went well. My daughter's house is currently a building site as they are having an extension built. What could be more pleasurable for an almost four-year-old boy?

As for Emily, she is standing but not yet walking. Crawls like an Olympian and calls everyone Dad.

Their parents are kept very busy and barely get a minute to themselves. For ten years it was just the two of them, then two babes in three years. Still, judging by these pictures I think Mum and Dad are quite delighted with their curly-haired rascals.

All Being Well

All being well, this time tomorrow I will be in deepest, darkest Norfolk where I am intending to spend a few days with Katy and family. It is unlikely that I will be blogging much while I am there as it would be difficult to compose witty posts whilst spending time with small, delightful and unruly children. I'm looking forward to it.

Since Bert's birthday I have been on a sugar detox as on the night after his birthday tea I thought I might die from a poisoning. Sugar is a poison y'know, especially when consumed in industrial quantities. This detox also includes alcohol as it too is very sugary. I do feel a lot better for it. I may eat a biscuit or drink a small glass of wine whilst in England but intend to be moderate.

I spent a good deal of time today working in the polytunnel. Mostly dealing with seedlings and young plants that Bert might neglect. As usual, I have grown far more plants and flowers than I have room for.

Tonight, Zoe and I are going to see The Unthanks at Seamus Heaney Homeplace. All being well.

Boxy Daisy Titters

Big birthday for Bert today. As is traditional, the birthday cake was served on the Monday closest to the special day, so yesterday. Zoe took the photograph. I have one almost exactly the same but this one is better.

I gave Bert a backpack as a present after the whingeing he did on Rathlin about being the only man on the island without one. He kept saying to people afterwards,

Every man, woman and child had a backpack and there's me, in every single photograph, carrying a shopping bag.

Here's what I think. (1) It was a very nice shopping bag and (2) he was lucky anyone wanted to take his picture.

Bert and his shopping bag wandering the leafy lanes of Rathlin Island

Then on Friday, I took Bert to the Seamus Heaney HomePlace to see Mikel Murfi's The Man in the Woman's Shoes. More than one member of the family had recommended that we see it at our earliest opportunity. And I will not be falling out with any of them for it was heartwarming and brilliant. Mikel Murfi was playing the companion piece, I Hear You And Rejoice, on the following night and I was sorry I wasn't going to see that too. Zoe did and she enjoyed it but said there wasn't the same hilarity in it.

So, it was a busy few days, not helped by the fact that I am still laid low with the summer cold. The kitchen got painted on Saturday, finished on Sunday. Window frames and skirtings still to be completed. It is all looking very fine.

Well, it was a Saturday night. A few beers won't do much harm.

Bert's best birthday present today? It would be hard to decide between Dawn and Les' hamper of fine cheeses and port or the return of Hannah Banana from her travels in Europe. Tough one. Ziggy would definitely say, Hannah! But maybe a small morsel of cheese too. Sorry, Ziggy. Far too good for dogs.

Roamer

No blogs posts for two days in a month when I'd promised myself a daily post. So what did I do instead?

A lot of coughing, especially during the night when I'd wake myself up. Then, to make up for that, a lot of napping during the day. I had a low-level summer cold exacerbated by hayfever and it had settled in my chest. Inconvenient and exhausting, not at all life-threatening.

Yesterday there was a little drama. After a night interrupted by coughing I was awakened by a cacophony of barking at around six. Grumpily got up (Bert never hears it) and let all four dogs out, left the door open and went back to bed where I managed to sleep for another hour until wakened again by some really unnecessary barking from Ziggy and Jess, both of whom were perched on my bed woofing away. They got a harsh telling off from me and I dropped off again. At nine Bert got up and informed me that four dogs were now five. Milling around with our own pooches was a very handsome and friendly black labrador.

No collar, full set of balls, great condition, lovely temperament. Highly unlikely that this was an abandoned dog. But where had he come from? I checked social media and no-one had reported a missing lab. We took him to the vet to check if he was chipped. He wasn't. I thought this was compulsory? Maybe it's not. The vet was really helpful, knew all the right people to call. They actually went through their own records and called all the male lab owners. We tried out names on our foundling. Are you Marley? Oscar? Bob? He did not respond. It was the call to the dog warden that did the trick.

On the journey home the council called and the dog's minder was in the yard before we'd got him out of the back of the van. Turns out he wasn't a local dog at all. The man who called for him was local and he'd agreed to look after the lab for a few days while the owner was on a fishing holiday. He'd picked the dog up the night before and he'd escaped his pen soon after. The man and his wife spent hours looking for him and had yet to inform his owner. As friendly and handsome as the black dog was we were still really glad to see him safely off the premises.

Bert said,

So what was his name again?

Romuld.

Rommel?

No! Romuld.

That's not a name.

He's calling him Roamer now.

The Humming Tree

The laburnum is looking very fine at this time of year. It is also the noisiest tree in the garden for hundreds of bumble bees are gathering the dark orange pollen from the blooms.

Yet another thing that cheers my heart.

Hospitals and Books

Bert had his biopsy today. We were to leave the house at half-past two for his appointment at half-past four. This was to give us time to visit a friend who is in hospital. Of course, Bert faffed around so much that we did not leave the house until a quarter to three and he still had to make a delivery of variegated honeysuckle to Montrose. As we drove he tossed me his letter from the hospital to make sure all was in order.

Your appointment is at quarter past four! We're going to have very little time to visit with M....! And you're supposed to have taken a shower. Did you?

Yes.

When?

Sunday.

And you're supposed to have quit smoking for two weeks before the procedure and for two weeks after. You didn't.

I forgot.

 We visited our friend. Only had about thirty minutes but that was OK because he was tired. Off to the next hospital. I opted to stay with the dogs and had two books in my bag to keep me occupied. One was forty pages or so from the end, the second one was back up in case I finished the first one.

The first book, We Are Not Ourselves

This is an extraordinary book, a slow starter but well worth reading.  I expect I'll finish it tonight.

The second book, Fifteen Dogs

Bert returned with a dressing on his temple about twenty minutes later so this one wasn't even opened. I'll return to it at a later date. Bert has a while to wait before he gets his results. We are not too worried. He is in good hands.

Game of Thrones

Quite a few years ago at one of Hannah's parties (held in Nellybert's home, which is why I was there), a bloke called Danny started talking about this new show called Game of Thrones. I'd vaguely heard of it. Danny had worked as an extra on it and said it was really good, he thought I'd enjoy it. I said, didn't think so as I wasn't really that keen on sword and sorcery stuff.

But I was at a bit of a loose end so I thought I'd have a look. Danny told me which episode he was in and I did a bit of fast forwarding and spotted him straight away. It wasn't hard as he was the only blond in a sea of brunettes and he was standing right next to Catelyn Stark in the close-up shots. There was a sword fight between two knights and in the end, the bigger one prevailed. Big reveal - when the helmet came off, the winner was a woman,  Brienne of Tarth. The very same Brienne of Tarth that held on to her virginity for the most of eight seasons. I might have held on to mine that long if I'd been as handy with a sword as Brienne.

Danny is the one holding the horn tankard. I believe those scenes were filmed at the North Antrim Coast.

Anyway, although I had not a clue what was going on I decided to start watching it, beginning at the very beginning. It started in a very snowy place. There was a big dark castle. Three riders passed through the gate. They seemed nervous. There was some general talk. The one in charge seemed like an arsehole. I thought, don't know if I'm going to like this show, not one of these characters appeal to me. There was no need to worry for five minutes later they were all dead. Two at the hands of the White Walkers and the one that got away was beheaded by Lord Ned Stark.

Years passed and Nellybert became very involved with the show. We met other people who worked as extras, mostly Hannah's friends. The past four seasons Martha and Evie's dad worked as an extra. He fought at The Battle of the Bastards, The Battle of Winterfell and The Sack of King's Landing.

Dave Longbeard at the Battle of the Bastards.

It's over now, we watched the last episode tonight and I thought it was good enough. And all I can say is,

Thank fuck that's over.

and,

Where's Drogon?

The Simple Things

Just a marigold, splashed with rain. Sometimes the simplest flowers are the most beautiful.

I never left the house or yard today. Just pottering around inside and out. Spoke to a few people on the phone. Some people whose lives are currently very hard. And some who just aren't getting it that easy.

We ate simple, uncomplicated food. Hardly any Haribo. I really must put that box back in the cupboard.

I sowed and transplanted annuals. And hoped the slugs won't get them. I found Madam Bianca's new nest.

Took the dogs out to Camp David. You'd never know there had been visitors there on Friday night. They left no trace.

Tomorrow I'm going to try out a couple of recipes from our supper out on Saturday. Yotam Olenghetti and Neven Maguire. Complicated recipes, not simple. I'm looking forward to it.

Saturday

Woke up early.

Went into Ballymena to feed a cat.

Bought The Guardian and RJ Kerr soda farls.

Met some twins coming out of the woods and fed them Cheerios and Haribo.

Ate toasted soda, cheese and chilli jam.

Sold half a dozen eggs to a good Christian man. Put in a prayer request.

Looked for hen's nests. Failed to find any. Decided hens were sleekit, cunning bastards.

Sowed runner beans and French climbing beans.

Pricked out hairy-stemmed poppies and papaver somniferum.

Went into Ballymena to feed a cat.

Ate toasted soda, cheese and chilli jam. And Haribo.

Gave second granddaughter sequinned dress bought from eBay.

Checked out Jasper Conran party dress for first granddaughter on eBay.

Ate toasted soda, cheese and chilli jam. And Haribo.

Kept tight eye on Jasper Conran party dress on eBay. 14 minutes left and going for £2.

Took phone call from friend regarding important matters,

Phone call lasted more than 14 minutes. Jasper Conran party dress re-listed.

Contacted seller, offered £1.50 more and 'won' Jasper Conran party dress.

Cut orange in half and used it to tempt pigs from field for early bed-time as Nellybert invited out to supper.

Rewarded good pigs with half an orange apiece and put them to bed with early supper.

Tried and failed to gather hens for early bedtime.

Went to good friends and served delicious supper all recipes from Yotam Olenghetti Jerusalem cook book. Felt slight frisson of guilt as was planning to boycott Eurovision Song Contest but food sublime.

Left after delightful evening of good food, conversation, wine and chocolate (no Haribo) clutching Jerusalem cookbook from which I am to photocopy favourite recipes.

Returned home and did livestock count. Foxes 0, Chickens 15, Rats 4.

Updated blog.

Goodnight.

Camping Night

We have guests at Camp David.

We joined them for story-time.

Ziggy stole their cheese.

He was forgiven.

Swimming Day

For me, every other Thursday is swimming day. Martha is doing a life-saving course and her Dad and I take it in turns to accompany her. I pick up the girls from the bus station. Today I had an extra job when I collected an application form for Bert's 60+ free travel pass. Imagine! Bert nearly 60 years old! When he gets it we will both be able to travel free on the bus, the train and, best of all, the Rathlin Island Ferry. Good times ahead. I bought him a backpack today so he can carry all our kit when we go off on our jaunts, He's still the younger partner, not yet in possession of the enhanced travel pass that allows free travel through the entire island of Ireland, not just the occupied six.

So, back to swimming. I get very confused in the changing rooms. Been doing this for months now and still get lost back there. The girls think it is very funny. I am humiliated by my lack of sense of direction. The thing is, I learn routes, I do not instinctively know where I am. Today Evie took me by the hand and showed me where to go. She is a sweet child. While Martha is learning important life-saving lessons I read (Toni Morrison's Jazz) and Evie has screentime on my phone. She checked out her school's website today.

I'm nearly done with Jazz. Will finish it tonight. It took a while but it got right under my skin. Finished La Belle Sauvage this morning will finish Jazz tonight. Still reading 12-14 books at a time.

Joy - spending time with grandchildren, reading. the sky.

Ups and Downs

It's been a funny sort of day. Judy wakened me at quarter to six and because it was bright and sunny I got up immediately to let her and the rest of the pack out. My immediate intention was to return to bed and resume snoozing but on the way downstairs I recalled that I'd been dreaming about Nigel Farage so decided to make coffee and return to bed to drink it and read La Belle Sauvage. Too dangerous to sleep with big flappy mouth awaiting me.

When I did get up I started some gardening chores. planting out some anaemic looking verbascum phoeniceum 'Violetta' and a tray of safflower. Howard turned up and he and Bert breakfasted while I went out to try and find the secret nest of Madame Bianca (the white hen). Without any success, although I may have pinpointed the general area. After breakfast, Bert came out to assist while Howard threw tennis balls for the dogs. It was then I spotted the sick hen. I'd noticed nothing out of the ordinary yesterday but she looked like she was breathing her last today. I called Bert who said, "She's fucked." Then, "Maybe we should move her to the spare henhouse and give her a chance, see how she does." I picked her up very gently and nestled her in the crook of my arm. She seemed calm. I started to walk towards the other henhouse. Moments later a tennis ball whizzed past me, followed by three or four very excited dogs, The sick hen went frantic and tried to get out of my arms. Wings flapping, legs working. I got badly scratched. Then her neck flopped, wings and legs still going. She was dead by the time I reached the other hen run. I laid her down, wings still moving. Upsetting. I'd heard the stories about hens still moving after death but had never witnessed it before.

I was really cross with Howard. Exciting the dogs when I was transporting a sick hen. Then I realised I was actually cross with myself. She was obviously close to death when I first saw her and I should have let her go in peace rather than causing her to be terrified in her last seconds.

The afternoon was more gardening, planting out peas and a lot of watering. Also continuing to look for hen's nests. While I was doing that the hens that escape every day scraped up all of the verbascum and some of the safflower. Bert said,

You'll never be able to plant anything as long as those hens are running about scraping everything out.

And I said,

You're quite right. We talked about this last week when it was decided that you'd fix the gate to keep them in the inner pen while you raised the fence. Perhaps you could do that sometime soon?

Later on, I went to visit a friend who's not been well and when I got back I watched the new Russell T. Davies about a dystopian future. Vancouver Brother rang. He said, when I finally answered,

I thought you weren't in.

I said,

I was watching a show and Donald Trump had just nuked China and I could hardly hear the phone for the sirens.

We also watched Virtues on Channel 4 with Stephen Graham. Excruciating in parts and terribly sad. Stephen Graham is an incredible actor.

So, an up and down day. The gardening was good, the hen thing was not and the TV shows were interesting. The phone call from my brother was good, our anxious, unwell friend not so good. But the sun shone all day and a summer cold that has been working on me for a few days seems to be getting better. I'm looking forward to more Philip Pullman at bedtime and it is to be another warm dry day tomorrow.

Which means lots of watering. Ups and downs.