Morning warning...

I'm sorry. It's another sky blip. Some days it's all that's worth looking at, let alone photographing. Perhaps "I the Lord of sea and sky" should be my theme tune (we sang it yesterday in church and all the Cursillistas in the congregation were grinning behind their masks - we don't get it very often.)* But this sky actually lured me out of bed this morning a full fifteen minutes before I needed to be up, and by the time I was at breakfast the rain had started, so the shepherds' warning was very timely.

The day sort of galloped along after that: Pilates (in damp leggings because of said rain while I was waiting for my lift) was again very challenging and left me ready for a long seat with my coffee - but perhaps some of the exhaustion was brought on by the huge burst of hilarity that three of us were caught up in while we were putting out our mats, so that we were whooping with laughter and had tears running down our faces. Haven't had a laugh like that in God knows how long.

No sooner had the instigator of the hilarity driven me home than my Apple watch told me I'd left my phone lying on the window sill in the studio (well no, it wasn't quite as specific, but it was bad enough) so that we'd to drive back again and I had to interrupt Himself's class to get it back (more ribaldry at my expense). So I'd hardly finished my coffee than he was home again, needing a quick lunch before heading off to Glasgow with another chap to look at keyboards (musical, not computer: his current one is getting too heavy for us to manage for gigs).

I intended a bit of luxurious doing nothing because I was on my own, but that didn't seem to work and I ended up doing quite a lot of Italian, ordering a new top online (I don't need any clothes, but ...), marching round to the health store for two kilos of bread flour and some Japanese ingredients, and doing an hour's prep for tomorrow's poetry class. I enjoyed that - found out some background to the poem that I'd not known before. An adult class often has quite different questions from a class of teenagers, and the discussions challenge in quite another way.

Our mini-Trump is apparently singing "I will survive" at his new head of staff, and thugs have been mobbing the leader of the opposition, emboldened with Johnson's vicious jibe in the House about Jimmy Savile. I feel the bile rising every time I see his photo in the papers, let alone on my screen. But I won't finish with that thought; it's bad for sleep. Instead, let me smile at myself and my routine every night in life. 

When I go to lock the front door before coming upstairs, I open it first and look out, as if to check that the night is still there. Every. Single. Night.

Reader, it is.