Busy doing nothing

Where did that silly song come from? I'm busy doing nothing/nothing the whole day through;/ trying to find lots of things not to do... I'll have it as an earworm now, dammit, but where/when/who? That's what I felt like today. We allowed ourselves a bit of a lie-in today; we've had huvtaes every morning since last Saturday and today we had nothing to press us to get out of bed so ...

And in fact I don't think I've done anything worthwhile all day, other than bung a loaf into the machine to have for breakfast. I read The Scotsman, complete with its wonderful April Fools' story, from cover to cover (and chortled because Himself took the story at face value); I did some Italian - oh: just remembered another redeeming, housewifely thing in that I washed a thousand pairs of pants this morning, as well as some t-shirts, and dried them outside despite a slight tendency to dampness in the air. I finished the Sunday papers over lunch, just in time to throw them out before the next one. 

After lunch we went a slightly grumpy walk up Glen Massan. I decided to push myself a bit and stormed up the final steep bit into the corrie, raising my heartbeat respectably and becoming very warm, with the result that my usual sore hip and back seemed less of a bother on the way down, to such an extent that I wondered if all I need is to warm up properly and dissipate the lactic acid ... We'll see.

Blipping the river Massan in its slow, peaceful stage opposite the back of Benmore Gardens. I like the ripples on the surface of the water. There was a thrush singing in the wood, and later just below this spot a squirrel crossed the road and took itself up into some improbably delicate trees. 

When we'd finished our walk we went straight up to the church to run through a new Communion song for me to sing tomorrow. The temperature inside was 9.6ºc but felt colder. We didn't loiter.