I’ve been away from the keyboard and cavorting in the meatspace, basking in the joy of friends. And of course the boys are on holiday and require entertainment of one sort or another. I am delightfully happy.
One problem with actually doing stuff is that there’s so much to savour and so little time to write about it, but the continuing discipline of a picture a day gives a framework for memory.
The picture above, for instance, is the table of the abode in which I found myself on the morning of the visit of Robert the Giant Easter Bunny who brought mini eggs and some rather sophisticated dark chocolate balls. Robert, it seems, is the name of one of the oversized lagomorphs to which I have already had cause to refer. I’m told his breeder is disenchanted with the proposed North Korean farming programme having discovered that only the apparatchiks were getting to eat them.
I have learnt to hula-hoop; been down the biggest slide in the Tate Modern; bought wool to knit for the newly-arrived miracle baby of a dear friend (in the new-look John Lewis); been to the theatre not once but twice, one trip with my father which may be the start of a regular treat; cooked and been cooked for and drunk many a fine vintage; floated home through a world of infinite complexity and walked under the soft spring sunshine in many places with many friends.
Tomorrow the boys, Maizy and I set out in the van to this campsite until the end of the week. We’re hoping the weather will be good but, in a clear demonstration of the maxim that more information is not necessarily better information we are bewildered by the range of meteorological prognostications available for the same town over the same period: