Linda joined us for supper Wednesday night - soup again - pumpkin (plus onion, garlic, herbs, chile, potato, and some red pepper I had left over), toast, and frozen yoghurt. And the Captain opened a bottle of white wine. A very quiet day for me - some studying, vacuuming, and soup making - recovering from Tuesdays grand march and seagull attack.
Its high summer now, and I am grateful for the sea breeze. The Channel is a calm turquoise blue this morning, the Green is still green (though we will need some rain soon to keep it that way), the balcony geraniums are ablaze, and Captain Butterfly has just been able to report an interesting new moth to the Recorder of Moths.
I am reading the Harry Thompson biography of Peter Cook. A compelling read - an excellent bio - but sad. I don't suppose the end of anyone's life is ever cheerful, but his last years seem very sad. But it is reminding me how funny and surreal he was. And Private Eye endures to this day, which it would not have done without him.
No comments:
Post a Comment