It has been an odd sort of day, but I find that Bank Holiday Mondays often are. To be somewhat pretentious, they are liminal days. Not a weekend, nor a holiday. A day for moping around the house and ennui. I spent some of it in the garden, helping move a cotoneaster from the old raised bed in the back to the wall at the front. Mostly this involved digging and general shifting of earth at Claire's direction, which, in truth, is my favourite gardening task. Otherwise I have spent the day on the computer or reading.
We drank the elderberry wine with our evening meal, which started with home-made pork pies and potato salad, left over from yesterday's lunch. Next it was eggs baked in spinach, yoghurt and parmesan with buttered toast made from stout-bread, which was delicious. This was all followed by, I think, my favourite David Tennant Doctor Who episode - The Family of Blood - during which I finished my wine, and I am now on the Bush Tea. I am currently debating whether to dive into the rhubarb fool. Maybe I should consult Claire.