Sometimes there just isn't much to say. Let me see...
We had morning coffee and pain au chocolat (not Real ones, those 'jus-roll' ones which just reminded us how good a proper pain au chocolat can be!). A friend dropped by on her way back from the early service church at just the right moment, and we sat in the warmth and dappled shade under the apple tree for the first time this year. Lovely.
We had after lunch coffee and the rest of the ersatz chocolate rolls sitting in the sun on the patio.
My brother rang to discuss ideas for our father's impending birthday 'so, what are your socialising thoughts now?'. We've had this conversation before.
Nothing has changed. I am still one of the 500,000 or so people strongly advised by their medical consultant to avoid meeting people indoors, wear a mask, stay away from crowded spaces... it's not just about taking immunosuppressants, but also only having such reduced lung function, such low oxygen levels, blah blah blah. I do get so tired of explaining all this. Partly because it brings it back home to me how much I am missing out on, and this is how it has it be at the moment.
This affects my husband too... he is having to live as I do, and does so willingly, bless him.
We make the most of small pleasures...
But we shall make plans to celebrate the birthday; they can go and have lunch together somewhere special, and maybe we can all meet for coffee and cake or whatever in a suitable spacious tea garden.
Then we took a little drive to find an 'in-post' drop off box to deposit the latest 2 parcels of books going off to ziffit. The books that ziffit don't want will all go to the Brithish Heart charity shop.
I've finished 'Ayala's Angels' by Anthony Trollope. I confess to skimming some chunks. It is just like every romantic fiction plot ever, better written and more amusing than many, by a Victorian author writing in Victorian Times. I've moved forward in time; I've started 'A Room With A View' by E M Forster; Queen Victoria is still alive, but Tennyson is dead, so that makes it after 1892. I saw some of the film a long, long time ago. I mainly remember Simon Callow as Mrs Emerson, and Helena Bonham Carter as Lucy Honeychurch, but I've never read the book. It is Delicious!
Perhaps I had more to say about today than I thought!