At six forty five dawn began to make an appearance to the east, across the allotment gardens over our back fence. Nature, I assume, is beginning to stir. I know for sure the birds will be cranking up the volume. An invisible sun creates a reddish tinge low down over the Lincoln edge, the other side of the Witham valley gap. At eight forty five the sky is now a dull characterless February grey.
We are sat quietly in the kitchen. Breakfast eaten and a cup of tea brewing. Another day ahead. I did pour some tea but it wasn’t quite ready so I’ve left the pot a bit longer.
Real time stuff this. It isn’t possible to post your whole life in real time although James Joyce did that with Ulysses. Also your whole life isn’t necessarily of interest to anyone else. Long periods of bugger all with the occasional bit of excitement thrown in as a reward. Visits to the barber, holidays in the Caribbean, the award of a knighthood for services to shed. Stuff like that. No I haven’t got anything to tell you regarding a knighthood.
I have extended warranty on my washing machine. I need to use it when I need it. I only use mine when it’s filled up. Overheard in Waitrose.