Thank you for your kind messages yesterday. I was much encouraged.

 

Today has been another summer’s day, and I felt flattened. Feel flattened. Archie came, and we got around the garden, but it was a struggle. I’ve tried to keep drinking water. 2091 steps -- better than yesterday, at least.

 

I did a bit of knitting. I decided to give up the moral struggle for the moment, and press on with the socks. Here they are:

 

C. (indefatigable) is having a lunch party on Sunday. I’ll be able to wear some cruise clothes! Wee Hamish will be there. Perhaps the sight of him will inspire me back to his Calcutta Cup vest.

 

Comments

 

Kirsten, well done with your courgette! I had a plate of mange tout peas from my doorstep the other day, and thoroughly enjoyed them. My heart is clearly not as tender as yours. But mange tout peas, as I must often have said before, don’t taste as good as the “snow peas” my father grew in his Victory Garden. I’ve tried and tried. When we first started gardening in Kirkmichael, my father even sent me seed.

 

I’ve often thought, of late, of what good food we must have had at the tables of both sets of grandparents. My mother’s parents – he was a preacher by profession – had what amounted to a smallholding, outside of Dallas. A huge vegetable garden, chickens, a cow, a black man to kill the chickens and to turn the handle of the ice-cream maker on Sundays. I don’t remember appreciating any of this. My mother was a poor cook, without much interest in food.