Trying ...

No, not a trying day so much as a day trying - trying to behave as if I felt fine, as if I was up to doing the things in the garden that have been annoying me since we came home from Edinburgh. It was a strange day as far as weather went - a lovely sunny start (so that Himself was up cursing to shut the curtains far too early to be awake) was overtaken by a strange haar-like greyness that occupied much of the morning, though the sun returned later and was rather lovely.

I decided that enough was enough and that the philadelphus was well overdue for its annual haircut, so while Himself took a big tub of garden rubbish that's been sitting in the shed for days and dumped it at the recycling centre, I got out the shears and the long-handled loppers and started cutting. I was teetering on the little two-step ladder from the kitchen when Himself returned, which meant I could more safely climb higher on the ladder that shoogles because one of its feet came off. Even so, reaching over the top of the bush put a serious strain on the core muscles - I felt I'd had a work-out by the time I'd finished. I'm quite pleased with it, however.

Apart from hanging out a small washing, and Himself cutting the grass we didn't do much else. I had lunch inside because it felt too much effort to take it outside, but spent most of the afternoon sitting in the sun with the paper and phoning people. I realised that we're not alone in our suffering, and rang the friend from church who's also been laid low - we spent a happy half hour comparing symptoms. 

One interesting thing that came out of today was a request to give a talk on poetry to a U3A meeting next month, which meant I spent some time thinking about what I might use and reading poems. It's funny how the lure of the old job returns in different guises over the years - did I know when I stopped teaching how much I would still enjoy doing it when I got the chance?

The day ended with what my younger granddaughter calls "Grandma fish" - ever since she was small she's enthused about my fried haddock, which is just as my mother did it - flour, milk, breadcrumbs (Ruskoline!), fried very quickly in a very little hot oil. I don't know that either son ever cooks it, but it's a great fave with Anna and we have an excellent fish monger who delivers every week. And then there was Compline, which was peaceful and lovely with music which we'd not had to produce.

Today's photo is really of desperation standard and was taken specially when I realised I'd not taken any photos all day. The loosestrife is out in the border and will soon flop annoyingly over the path, but in the early evening sunshine it looks cheerful and golden with one bright rose and a scattering of what I erroneously call montbretia but which I think is really crocosmia.

Or something.