Yoga is for wimps. S set a stopwatch for 5 minutes and jogged up and down the garden path, which we subsequently measured (25 metres). Being a wimp, I had done my yoga with Adriene earlier -- I chose a gentle routine for seniors this time, and it was really pleasant.
Apart from that? I woke in the night to hear rain drumming on the flat roof. But this morning the clouds were gone, and everything was wet and sparkling in the sunshine. Defying the weather forecast, it was sunny albeit windy all day. More socially distanced conversation with the neighbours, I'm glad we have them and aren't shut up alone. While we talked, I spotted a small and welcome visitor (extra).
Lunch: pasta e fagioli from the freezer, which has always been one of my favourite standbys. A well-balanced and filling meal that can be made almost entirely from storecupboard ingredients. This evening: a bit of jamón with our apero, followed by smashed avocado on toast. It's raining again now. Evening viewing: the livestreamed concert Cecile McLorin Salvant posted on her Facebook page a couple of days ago: her and Sullivan Fortner in her apartment with a smartphone. It's fair to say it's not the greatest sound or video quality; for fans only! I wonder what future historians will make of the way people documented and shared what they did while locked in?
I'm still reading L'Assommoir but I think I'll have to stop because the misery is really over the top now. Our bedtime reading aloud is Elizabeth Strout's Olive, Again. It's not a barrel of laughs either, but she's a wonderful, perceptive writer.