Not quite Gray's Elegy ...

I was wakened this morning by the sound of rain - not battering on the windows, just battering down noisily and very audibly because all the bedroom windows were open. Thereafter most of the day was dry, with very short-lived showers powering through on a swift wind - and it felt warmer again. 

Thus roused, I tried to have a more productive morning, domestically speaking, than I have of late. So before breakfast I put a loaf in the machine and a load of towels into the washing machine; when I'd finished eating I hung out the towels, washed up, disposed of the contents of an elderly bottle of fish sauce, made a big effort to dispel the smell of same in the sink and plughole, dead-headed some plants, did a second washing, hung it out, observed with satisfaction that all the washing was dancing wildly on the line, made coffee.

After that, however, my usual disinclination to be a domestic goddess kicked in. In the study I printed out tomorrow's Intercessions, faffed around on the computer, read holiday documents with the disbelief of one who's had too many holidays cancelled. And then it was lunchtime.

In the afternoon Himself felt he needed to practise music for tomorrow, so I let him drive while I walked to the church , noting as I passed how lovely it was to see the Rectory occupied again (by the new owners!) Rather than sit in the church waiting a chance to sing, I parked myself on the bench our about-to-be-bishop made to replace the broken one in the churchyard, and just ... was. It was lovely. The wood felt warm, the sun came and went. Gentle sounds from the organ drifted over the old graves, competing with birdsong. It's just a lovely place.

I walked home again after my singing practice, chatting to a friend as she drove up to lock the church for the night, phoning my clever granddaughter, now home from her holidays, to set up a meeting. She made me giggle like a teen as I walked past the only corner shop I pass on that route, so that a youth sitting, oddly, on the pavement with a couple of dogs, stared at me wide-eyed. 

I've just come upstairs after registering the start of the News on the telly and then sinking into total oblivion. I was so cross I rewound it all to catch up. Then there were people running, running and jumping, running insanely fast over long distances, people hitting each other with their feet, people weeping, gasping or being overcome in interviews. Too much.  To bed ...