Conversation between me and the First Wife this afternoon…. “What are you up to?” “I’m sorting out my life.”
Well, who am I to argue. The dots mean something, apparently. Don’t ask me what.
What these socks of hers say about Clare I am not quite sure, but hey, we’re still married after 22 years (nearly). So tacitly, I guess I approve. (The text on the one on the left starts: “Being an adult is…”; the rest you can work out for yourselves.)
Came as close as I ever have today to simply having no acceptable photograph at the end of the day. Up until this one was taken I had an out-of-focus picture of a halved avocado, and that was pretty much it. C. gets involved today almost as emergency cover. It’s still out-of-focus, but hey, at least she’s smiling.
Saturdays are football days…. still just about. But while we might potentially have been in attendance at Morecambe FC today for their FA Cup tie with Solihull, this is declared ‘unsafe’ by Our Glorious Leaders at this present time, so like the other interested hundreds we had to make do with TV. The local mug and, in the background, Clare’s scarf offered totems of support. But it’s unreal, fake somehow. The trouble is that no one in ‘authority’ really gives a toss.
3,371 days into this blog (nine years, two months and 22 days) and I am buggered if I am going to let this profoundly boring and pointless period see it peter out through sheer lack of interest. But it’s not very interesting, is it. This is the true impact of this bloody virus. It’s made the world so goddamn boring, suddenly. (With no offence meant to my family members, pictured here, who are about the only things that are keeping me sane.)
Nothing about the politics today, no grouching, I promise. Let us just celebrate the peak of autumn. I have pictured this wood before (by now, I’ve pictured most places near my house before), and have always called it the Entwood because here more than anywhere else round here the trees feel like they have feet, that their residence in the ground is temporary.
Clitheroe Castle is at least 910 years old but despite having been in a state of general ruin since the English Civil War, that is the 1640s, it is just about still standing on a spot with a really good view (as castles should have). On our first day of a week off work for the both of us, Clare enjoys said view — ignoring the rain coming in behind.
The plum tree seriously needs pruning, and now is apparently the time…. this information being imparted by Peggy, fellow member of the allotment society and knowledgeable in these matters. Expect some documentation of the subsequent surgery, at least, once we get our pruning saw. Yes, this would be a nicer photo without the water butt, but it is what it is.
The beauty of Cumbria is not entirely found in its lakes and mountains. The coast is also very fine. After a terrible morning’s weather put the high country out of bounds, we got out anyway and Sandscale Haws, near Barrow, gave us something to enjoy as the weather cleared. Joe practices his ballet moves, it seems.
