Sleep filled bleariness, strangely wide awake, brain not yet fully in gear, birds up and at it. What do they have to talk about at this time of day? Worms, weather, spring, the change to British Summer Time when the living is easy.
Do birds have that kind of memory? Do they recall the long hot summer of 2019 or a cold late spring. The great unforecast hurricane of 1987 or whenever it was. You knowworramean. Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans? Nawlins, sprawlins.
I’m up and will shortly make a pot of tea even though it isn’t my turn. That’s how I roll. Sometimes I make two pots. One is usually not quite enough and two almost certainly too much as even with the benefit of a tea cosy it will either have gone cold or totally stewed by the time we get to the bottom of it.
It is still too early. Not too early if we have a tide to catch or a fishing spot along the river to lay claim to. Too early even if we were headed to Cardiff for the match. Too earl to head to the airport for that stupid o’clock flight. We live a long way from most useful airports. If it departs that early we would stay at an airport hotel anyway. I quite like the Sofitel at T5. A handy short walk from the terminal. T5 is my preferred departure point. Not Gatwick. Depends on the class of travel.
I see someone famous’s dogs, stolen at gunpoint, have been found. My dad had a dog called Chum when he was a kid. I only found this out recently. Took 59 years of planetary living to be told that. Dad remembers taking him to Tabor, the local chapel and Chum running along the low wall of the balcony on the first floor. The fondness of dad’s memory made me smile.
Just heard an owl out the front by the way. The time for hunting must be nearly over although I did once see one stood in broad daylight on the corner post of the trellis at the bottom of the garden. Looking for Winnie the Pooh, probs, or Piglet.
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Looks great out there. Beautiful sunny day. This morning I will get my onion sets down.