The messages ...

I'd be interested to know how many of my fellow-blippers call their shopping "the messages" - I suspect it's a Scottish thing, if not a Glasgow one. The arrival of three bags of messages this morning, borne by our heroic shopping angel, threw us into the flurry of neurotic activity that seems to have become the norm these days, washing in the sink where appropriate, wiping down with Dettol wipes where necessary. The photo shows all the clean vegetables laid out on the worktop to dry - they looked so good I felt they were worthy of a food shot before I put them away.

Much of the rest of the day was taken up in recording a couple of somewhat strenuous Easter hymns for the online service on Sunday (live singing sounded dire over a heavily-populated Zoom meeting). I'd finished one recording in a state of near-collapse because I needed my lunch, and announced this fact before the microphone was switched off ... idiot! 

One lovely thing that happened was a sudden WhatsApp message from my older grandson, a message that turned into face-time and allowed me to see the boys with their lockdown haircuts. It was spontaneous and crazy and almost like having them drop in.

This evening's discovery was that I seem to have been clenching my jaw, perhaps last night, and now have a really aching tooth which I suspect is the crowned, cracked one: it sits slightly proud of the rest of my bite and is prone to suffering from additional pressure. It's the ibuprofen for me tonight ...