Swell to great ...

This grey day has been one where I feel nothing has happened and yet between us quite a number of things were accomplished. I was up in time to have finished breakfast by the time the Gas Man came at 8.30, on the dot as promised, to service our gas fires and fit a washer to a troublesome tap fitting. There was a spell when I couldn't use the hot water, so I used it to clean the candlesticks on the windowsill next to the dining room table, carefully picking off the long waxicles, putting the sticks into hot water and then wiping off wax with a paper towel, polishing them with a dry duster. Tonight we had new, white candles and I decided they looked ... superior. I scraped wax off the windowsill and the brass snuffer and then polished same with Brasso. I have to admit it all looks better. I went down to Morrison's for the local paper and met a former colleague on my way out. An hour later I was dashing home in the rain ...

After lunch and the required sleep/doze/nap and plenty more active digressions, we went up to the church for me to practise the wee piece - a blessing from the Northumberland Community - that I'm going to sing on Sunday. It's quite unlike our usual offering, but it's good and even better when Himself harmonises as well as playing. In the photo you can see the scrap of manuscript which is at the moment our only guide; I've been accustomed to singing it unaccompanied. Not, however, in public ...We then spent some time inserting the correct words into the new hymn folders - Himself had them printed off without a necessary chorus. 

Once home (rather wet: we walked), Himself made curry (chicken, chickpea dahl) for dinner while I took the first steps towards organising a renewal of Cursillo in this neck of the woods. As a result of a phone call I sorted things out in my head and before I knew it I was hungry again. I've taken the first step by sending out an email to everyone involved before ...

I watched the last part of The Pilgrimage this evening, in the course of which they spent some time in St Hywn's church in Aberdaron without once mentioning - neither pilgrim nor priest said a word about him - my favourite poet R.S.Thomas, whose last parish this was. I suppose it's a good while since he died, but not long enough to resurface other than in the minds of people who love his poetry. Ah well. It's an extraordinary church. 

Photo of the organ keyboard this afternoon, with the lit up stops of Himself's setting and the scribbled music on the book - rest. 

My eyes have just shut as I typed. Time for ........