diary

mistle thrush in the morning. cloud breaking up to sunny. blackcaps joined by white throats by the estuary. Italian alder catkins lie fluffy on the floor, willow getting there... sadly a dead fox - how did that get there.
Flies so many flies - house front covered by largish slim ones and one pair of st. mark's flies mating.
A small salad of polytunnel marvels preceded by an ice cream. Oh well.
Most beautiful bright green hornbeam seen from my window.

If only my knees had been up to it I would have walked the estuary to the beach. And to think I thought I could do a breton dancing workshop.
How come some people can bear their ill health with good grace and cheerfulness?