Taking back control ...

It wasn't till I began writing that heading that its horrid resonances struck me, but I shall leave it as a bitter jest as The Great Charlatan blunders on through Curtaingate ...

What I am referring to is my shopping. Having landed myself in January with the deceptive convenience of online shopping and the Click and Collect routing, I've felt somehow increasingly trapped by the process, including the horrid way it spread the business of the weekly shop over two days and required more forward planning than I am prepared to put in. This week I gave myself a mental shake, ignored the passing of the ordering deadline, and went to the shop at the same time this morning as I would have been collecting the order. One interesting fact that I can report is that I spent about £20 more than I have been spending, despite not buying any booze (which I couldn't have bought until 10am, even if I'd wanted to.) The shopping was fine apart from A COUPLE - despite signs asking you to shop alone if possible, there they were, the woman with her list and an asterisked pencil checking it off, the hapless man with the trolley taking up half the aisle. And there weren't enough check-outs open, resulting in a small queue and a silly woman standing right up beside me until I told her (a) she was too close and (b) there was another woman before her. What a nag I've become ... (Oh, all right. I just used to keep it better under control)

Breakfast was rushed so that I could join an online PreachMeet - the fun side of being one of the Lay Preachers in church. For the past twenty years or so these meetings have been something to look forward to, as a group - today three of us plus the Rector - throw ideas around and discuss them, disagreeing or affirming with equal enthusiasm. Really, everyone in churches should have a chance to do this kind of thing...

After coffee I had the first shot at writing the sermon, as it's my turn in a week. So lunch was late, and getting out even later. But this meant we could once more have Benmore Gardens completely to ourselves, as sensible people had all gone home. I wish I could share the sensation of having this great garden, with its hillside and its tall trees and plants from all over the world, all to yourself, with the only sound coming from a host of birds at varying distances. Once there was another sound, that of scrabbling little claws on bark, as two red squirrels chased each other up and down and round a huge Scots pine above the mossy hilltop. The photo is of a favourite corner, where a small water course runs through bright green new growth. 

I've just ordered Alastair Campbell's new book on dealing with depression, Living Better. I'm a great fan of his Instagram rambles on the politics of the day; best of all when he goes on Hampstead Heath as I'm drinking my tea and I can listen to him while I contemplate getting up. I'm not a natural depressive, though this past year has been a downer, but I think it's important to learn. What I am, however, is synaesthetic, and I'm trying to write something about that before I let it slip back into disregarded normality. 

On quite another tack, I've just finished watching a wonderfully immersive film about a group attempt on Everest that went horribly wrong on the descent. Fictionalised, with a few well-known faces, but so well filmed. I'm quite exhausted ...