Jacks came round last night - after a bit of a harrowing day - to a chicken curry cooked by the Captain himself. I did the rice and had provided the chicken. It was leftovers of a rather disappointing chicken stir fry I made last month and froze. He turned it into a splendid old style British chip shop curry. With enough left over for lunch for the two of us today.
We are lunching to Bargain Hunt at the moment.
We had grapes and the choc mints left over from Sunday afterwards - and a glass of two of wine.
Another disturbed night, but he is feeling a lot better. Its sunny day, with a breeze putting tiny ripples on a blue-grey channel.
A lovely clearwing moth has come to live in our kitchen. He sleeps on the side of the oven. The outside of the oven, or we would have been having roast moth last night.
He is a miracle of artistry and engineering, and I would like to invite Richard Dawkin round to take a look at him, and try to explain how he can believe that it is just a random and meaningless event.
That moth tells us of its grand Creator without even speaking.
It may of course be a lady moth. But it seems to have a boyish personality somehow.