Summer time arrives

We looked after Rhiannon again this weekend up in Kenilworth, as Kath and Anto had the last gig of their rural tour series on Saturday night. The last episode of the Danish detective serial 'The Killing' was on TV, and fortunately Rhiannon was in bed by the time it started. It's been a compelling watch over the past ten weeks, going into great detail about a murder investigation and its impact on lives of people who knew the victim, plus the political fall-out in the run-up to local elections. The course of the story was never really predictable, although the culprit when finally exposed was someone right within the intimate family circle, and that was something I speculated about from early on. 

Apparently the BBC has bought a second series, due to be screened in the autumn, with taciturn, observant  Detective Sara Lund invesigating yet again. With rare exceptions, she wore the same thick woolly jumper throughout the twenty days portrayed in the story. Will the jumper star again in series two? Which retailer has the euro merchandising rights I wonder?

The clocks went forward an hour overnight. As I wanted to go to the 8.00am Eucharist at Kenilworth Parish Church, it took me a while to figure out how to set the alarm function on my phone, as the time elapsing between setting it and activation included the hour's advance. I needn't have bothered, as I was awake and de-activated it well before it was due to go off. I love the quiet early walk to St Nicholas' church, down the back lane, then up the hill along a tall tree lined path to the churchyard. The blossom is out and the birds rehearsing their spring calls - and the quiet congregation smile a welcome, and look as if they are pleased to be there, even if it is with an hour's less sleep.

Afterwards, we all enjoyed mid-morning brunch together. Then we dug out a section of lawn turf in the back garden to make a space for laying slabs on which to erect a Wendy House for Rhiannon. It was an interesting exercise in collaboration between four adults, all of whom are used to being in charge in their own fields of work - "All primadonnas" as Anto bluntly put it. Somehow we got there without quarrelling or sulking, although I don't know what the green waste collectors will think of a wheelie bin stuffed with clumps of grass. By the time we were back home, Kath had sent us an iPhone picture of the pavement in place, laid by the two of them after our departure. Next weekend, their test will be erecting the Wendy House without grief and tribulation.  Good luck to them!