SOCKS

It is hard to beat the pleasure of hanging out washing on a sunny, breezy day in May, but being the proud owner of a pair of whacky socks is the icing on the cake.

This was one of those rare days. Nothing in the diary, no-one to let down, masses to do but none of it urgent. I wrote in the grey morning, and gardened in the sunny afternoon. Onions netted (to protect them from the curious birds), tomatoes potted and staked, paths cleaned and seeds sown. In between, the Professor and I sat on the deck and sunned ourselves while we talked and talked. You would think after nearly 18 years together we might have run out of conversation, but no.