Three Little Birds

It's been a funny day. G was working, so he headed off really early and I had a nice long lie. Got up at 9-ish, and thought I'd get out into the garden to start cutting back a lot of stuff. And then I opened the curtains!

Trees were bent sideways with the wind, and the rain was absolutely lashing down. Thought I might as well get soaked first thing rather than later, so got all togged up and took Rocky out, then came back and got dried and had breakfast.

Spent the rest of the day in intensive housework, which I didn't mind a bit. Some people say they hate doing housework, but I love it. I think it is the immediacy of being able to improve your environment by applying a wee bit of elbow grease; I find it very satisfying and therapeutic.

Outside, the weather switched with alarming rapidity, from rain, to sunshine, to wild wind, and sometimes all three at the same time. These three little china bird whistles, bought in Crete, Barcelona and Ibiza, bask on the kitchen windowsill, safe from the elements.

As I write this, I hear on the radio that Jack Bruce has died. My heart immediately aches, as I so remember Cream being one of the influential bands of my early adulthood. Who of my age, does not remember Badge? Suddenly, I am fifteen, squatting cross-legged on the floor of some herbal smoke infused flat, lit by table-lamps with red bulbs in, while joss-sticks turn to lines of ash on every available surface.

And of course, Alvin Stardust left the planet this week too. I remember dancing up a storm to him at the school disco's of my youth.

Now I feel ashamed that I was going to end this entry by moaning about the clocks going back tonight; what does it matter really - they will go forward again in the Spring.

Bye bye Jack and Alvin, thanks for the memories.