Posted by Tania Kindersley.
There are wild gales all night, and equally wild insomnia. My boiler is broken and the house is so cold that I cannot sleep for shivering, even with the Pigeon bravely doing duty as hot water bottle.
In the morning, I stare with my spacey eyes at the fallen branches and ripped-off foliage which is littering the grass, as if cast about by some childish giant.
The Older Niece calls, and the Lovely Stepfather. They are filled with kindness. I speak to The Sister, who has opened a shop while I was away. It seems to be a great success. We talk for a moment about our father. We miss him.
I make spicy food, with lots of chilli and garlic and mint from the garden. I contemplate taking my library books back and decide that it is too great a task.
On the news, voices talk of President Obama and the Queen and the ash cloud in Iceland. Someone is very cross with the French, but I can't quite work out why.
I think: come on, normality, come back to me.
Pictures of the day are of all the things in the garden which have been growing while I was in the south:
There has not been a photograph of the wall for far too long:
The sun on the trees:
The sheep and the coos:
I got the focus on this all wrong; the sun was shining in my eyes and I just pointed and hoped. But I rather love it anyway. Even all blurry, The Pigeon still looks quite beautiful:
Oh, and one more thing. There is one tremendous piece of GOOD NEWS. One of the dearest and most loyal of all the Dear Readers is HAVING A BABY. There are certain strict people who say that you should never, ever use capital letters if you want to be considered a serious writer. I agree with them in theory. But there are some things which are too important to go into lower case and this is one of them. It is a real life going on thing, and a lovely moment of joy. So here is to you, Anne. Bloody marvellous. I wish you all loveliness and delight.