An autumnal chill this bank holiday Monday as we breakfast outdoors. Birds, the rush of the stream and a stream of traffic tune up like an orchestra. Traditionally a day off, a bank holiday and lazing on the beach would be good. I have primed The Boxer. She accepts with good and easy grace, as she accepts most things. Old age becomes her philosophy.
Labour in the garden, not of love but necessity, will be the order of the day, and probably, if the sun eventually shines, I will relent and The Boxer will have her due. The beach will be for another day.