I heard the front door close at eight this morning, Clare making an early start for the swimming pool in town. That prompted me to get up and get moving too. I was out of the house walking just after ten. When I passed under a tall tree I heard a couple of un-natural metallic sounds over my head, a deep groan then a short high pitched wail. I looked up and there were two crows side by side, one preening the other. I don't recall ever hearing such a strange bird noise. A mating ritual call?
I returned and absent-mindedly started preparing lunch, having forgotten we planned to eat a cooked meal later, as Clare had a colleague around for a handover briefing after school. Just as well I remembered before actually starting cooking, thereby avoiding a domestic crisis.
Mother Frances came around for a cuppa at tea time. It's the first opportunity we've had for a decent face to face chat since she first arrived. It's great to see her in such positive form after her annus horribilis last year. Afterr she left, I resumed the seemingly endless chore of scanning old film negatives. Back to 1987 today, pictures of a family holiday in Brittany, with a visit to Chartres on Kath's sixteenth birthday.
When I found pictures taken when we visited Vannes during a Jazz festival, they made me realise I'd been imagining Vannes town centre when I was writing about Dai Mandolin's sojourn there in my 'Troubador' novel. It reminded me that I have yet to complete the first revision of the draft. It's slipped off my to-do list for the past year.
After supper, the pleasure of watching astounding snowboarding performances at the Winter Olympics, before another new season 18 episode of NCIS. Then some duty diary updates before calling it a day.
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