I had another good night of sleep in which I only had to get up and go to the toilet once in seven hours. It's such a difference, very much a measure of the continuing healing of the wound in my perineum. I am so grateful for this. This week's Morning Prayer and Reflection link was posted to the Parish WhatsApp at eight, minutes after I woke up, later than usual.
I went to St John's and celebrated the Eucharist with seven others this morning, then returned and cooked lunch in time for Clare's return from her eurythmy session in school. Straight after eating I had to leave on foot to get to Pidgeon's Chapel for a funeral service, after which I was taken to Western Cemetery for the burial. It just started to rain when we arrived there, but with a big funeral director's brolly in hand I didn't get too wet at the graveside.
When I got back I drafted my Sunday sermon before eating an early supper to enable us both to get to choir practice at St Catherine's in time. I really must remember to take a torch next week as I had extra difficulty reading the music, despite the church lights being full on. I just seem to need a lot more light to read printed pages by these days. Then, back home and a couple more 'Crossing Lines' episodes before bed. It's really rather addictive, with a variety of photogenic European locations setting the scene for different and sometimes original stories, even if the use of advanced hi-tech devices and travel time compression risk the plausibility of the tale.
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