Bedraggled

A short burst of monsoon-like rain at around 3pm left the flowers and foliage of Stroud down, but not destroyed. I left work at around 4.30 pm and slogged home up the hill. That's the worst part of no longer being on holiday: a 20-minute uphill journey across the town centre and out the other side. It never gets easier: I don't find myself wanting to break into a run.

I shot this poor rose on the way, on Bowbridge Lane. Then I began to tackle the million things I have to do in September: renewal of just about every document, membership or policy I possess. I also made some rose face cream to post off to the other side of the country. Then time to pop the dinner on.. I just want to curl up and finish my West Highland romance, The Larach by Alexandra Raife. Written in a pre-internet era, when word processors were more common than PCs, it is refreshingly free from the intrusion of reality. For instance, it is never mentioned that the heroine, a young widow, might one day need to go out and earn her keep. And why would she?

I've ordered two more by the same author.