Bread and goldfish

It is a sad truth that neither I nor Himself can enjoy throwing ourselves into a day of enjoyment without paying for it: we were both pretty exhausted today. It didn't help that I woke, instantly wide awake, convinced that it was Sunday and therefore a day when we had to be up and doing without delay - neither of us could drop off again after that and so we didn't have a longer sleep than usual. At this point the day was misty and damp, with the hills all around us swathed in cloud, but as the morning went on the sky gradually cleared and the afternoon was quietly lovely despite the odd threat of rain.

I didn't get much done this morning, to be honest. I tinkered with the conclusion of my sermon tomorrow to make it slightly more digestible, and I started off a sourdough loaf to a recipe I used to use - I was getting bored with the rather easier one I've made since lockdown. This one involved a lengthier process of kneading and resting, but the end result, out of the oven after dinner tonight, seems to have a good bouncy texture under its iron crust.

By mid-afternoon I felt ready to return to bed, but instead pulled myself round sufficiently to walk down to my friend Paddy's, where I sat first in her kitchen drinking coffee and then in her magical garden watching her indulge in heroic pruning while I did my Italian on the phone. She demonstrated how her goldfish - two or three biggies and a whole host of their babies - came flocking (do fish flock?) from under the waterlilies when she scattered some feed on the water. I later realised that if I stood beside the pond the babies came out again - obviously the shadow on the water suggested food to them. Paddy suggested the biggies had more sense: I could have been a heron ...

It was simply the most restorative afternoon. The Milton Burn (whose existence I'd forgotten about) gurgled gently behind the wall at the end of the garden as we talked or were silent, and despite the presence of the shore road in front of the house, here at the rear we could have been anywhere - like a botanical garden, for instance. That's my blip for today - the pond, with its hidden residents, and the profusion of flowers and shrubs that are the fruits of my friend's presence these last three or four years.

This evening I watched a Star Trek movie - the one that introduces the young Kirk and Spock - to revisit my youth, and fell asleep over the news. Some things don't change ...