We strolled up to the Northern Den to collect our brownies plus the coffee which we enjoyed while sitting on the wooden bench close to St Wilfrid’s Church.
One night, to convince myself I could still focus on something for long periods of time, post Liesel’s retirement to bed, I decided to sort our CD collection. Hercules would be very proud of my nine hours of more or less continuous struggle.
The Sun rose before I went to bed, one welcome, if unexpected bonus.
We decided not to invest in this mobile burger business. I’ve hidden the phone number: we might reconsider sometime.
The recycling centre round the corner re-opened but they’re restricting its use is determined by vehicles’ regnos.
No queue in sight, but Mr Jobsworth forced one even-numbered vehicle to turn round, go home. Ridiculous.
We’re still seeing weird things in the streets, together with some pretty flowers.
It’s quite perilous strolling too close to one of the neighbourhood golf courses. My soft titfer definitely wouldn’t protect the bonce, I confidently predicted.
My new friend, the heron, introduced me to his chum, the crow, before flying off up-river.
Most fortuitous sighting of the week? The red growth in our hedge, complemented by the brightness of the Sun.
Thus concludes the newest post. Short, but sweet this time, lovingly typed up without the use of one single letter ‘A’. (Well, just the one.)