Back in the Box

Can it still only be Wednesday? This week has seemed like a month of Sundays and Presbyterian one’s at that.

Before any blinds had twitched at first light this morning, I made a run for it on my birthday bike to my old hunting ground across the Meadows to post a birthday card through the door of a friend. I think I returned before my escape was noticed by the amateur police force that in my mind consists of neighbours counting how many times I leave the house in the day.

I may have cleaned the bathroom and watched the news, both of which did not exactly make me euphoric, before I went for a walk with a friend on a circular route to Morningside and back , maintaining the 2 metre gap between us. This is more difficult than one might think given the width of the pavements.

Skipping on the patio is having a rest day - I may have overdone it on the last 2 days leaving my legs unwilling to cooperate.

I have fielded several phone calls and laughed out loud at the funny videos coming into my message box. Than goodness for friends and humour.
A lot of what we oldies are laughing at is the way our offspring have suddenly taken on supervisory duties to become like our parents and we are the naughty teenagers trying to bend the rules slightly, not doing what we are told, which is to stay in our box and not put a foot outside it if we know what is good for us.

This little lady in the blip is definitely in her box and now residing elsewhere still with a Creme egg up her bahookie.