Sweet memories

I've always loved honeysuckle. When I was a child, the intricacies of each bloom seemed impossibly perfect, even if I had to brave fat bees to examine them. Much later, though before I had children of my own, I grew to associate the scent of them with a crazy weekend spent sleeping in a caravan in a friend's garden on Arran - because we had to use the bathroom in the house, and there was honeysuckle soap. On our first evening there, we all, our hostess included, went to the pub, leaving her young but large dog behind in the house. When we got back we found the whole place covered in debris, as if there had been an explosion. Turned out we'd left a small window flapping in the breeze, and the terrified dog had tried to hide in the mattress ...

Who knew a mattress had so much stuffing in it?

In other news, I survived the night with my sore jaw (pain relief is a great thing) but now look like a lopsided hamster. Apparently this is quite normal. I still feel as if my jaw was punched, but inside my mouth seems ... ok. I went this afternoon's lovely peaceful walk along the road through the fields to try to forget about it ...

A last, totally random thought: If, like me, you find that most of your socialising is done on zoom and other online platforms, do you also find that you dress accordingly? As in you put your face on (it's eyebrows with me) and a decent shirt, but pair it with the most dreadful old jeans and a pair of crocs? 

I may never recover my sartorial equilibrium.