After you, Claude…

This is where I’ve been today, and very splendid it was.  Cold, though.  I dutifully spent quite a long time in the garden and rather wished that, as well as two jumpers and two jackets, I’d worn gloves.

I’m still tired, hoarse voice, tickly cough.  It’s either a cold or a reaction to all the fields of oilseed rape that are now in flower.  I had a little nap on the way home and, I’m afraid, an early night is indicated at the moment.  I hate early nights.  I’ve nothing against getting up early, but evening time is when I perk up and feel most cheery.  But the Sage is out and may need a lift home, so I’ll have to stay alert for now.

I had just cooked myself scrambled eggs, put them on half a slice of toast, Marmited the other half and started eating, when someone called round to see the Sage.  Of course, he’s out, but when I came back having explained that, I found the dog had eaten my eggs.  I’m really not very lucky with evening meals at the moment.  I’ve eaten some cucumber.  I can’t have a glass of wine in case I’m driving and, actually, I don’t really want one.

H’m.  I must be under the weather.

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