Stre-e-e-tch ...

It is a feature of my performance in Pilates class that I don't stretch as well as many of my classmates. (Suddenly aware that calling them that makes us all sound about ten - but we're not!). This morning was no exception - my hamstrings have clearly been tuned sharp at my birth and I've never been able to touch my toes without bending my knees. Doesn't stop me going as far as I can but golly, it's hard work! I staggered out into drizzly Argyll Street after class with nothing on my mind except getting up the steep hill and having my coffee. Psychologically, it's a great way to kick off the week - and I had a terrible attack of the giggles this morning and set my corner of the studio off...

Once home, I had the long-awaited coffee and did my Italian, though I kept falling asleep in mid-exercise. Himself came home and we had lunch, sporadically entertained by texts from Catriona in Corfu, where she and her pals have met another group of girls from ... Edinburgh. They shared mutual acquaintances, so tonight they were all hitting the town together - is Kavos ready for this, I wonder ...?

We had some lunch and I fell asleep trying to catch up on the wars in the Middle East. There's something awful about that, though my father apparently dozed off with the Battle of Alamein happening nearby as he waited for signals in his truck (or so he told us.) Neither of us felt the need for a walk today, so we drove up to church to drape the organ console in a shroud of plastic to protect it from the plasterer who is apparently due to come and attend to the dangerous plaster crack at the join with the "new" bit of the aisle. Then we had a sing through some music in preparation for an engagement this week, before driving home past the Health Store to pick up some bits and pieces. They sell the most succulent chickpeas in jars - can't bear to go back to the more ordinary tins now, and I bought some butter beans of the same make to try them in my Greek beans recipe. 

And that was that. The weather is still pretty miserable - damp and not warm - and I long for some of the heat they're already getting in the south. I think of the grandchildren in their hot sunshine and don't feel any warmer myself, though it's amazing to see Alan in Rwanda looking as cheerfully composed as he does on the pitch at Spartans. 

The rose in the collage is one on the very delicate bush, so it has a weak neck and may not be able to stay out if the wind gets stronger; the miniature fuchsia has lost half its stems but is flowering well on the remaining one. I suspect I've neglected them somewhat. 

Maybe I'll manage a little gardening soon.