We drank the wine to tuna fishcakes and ratatouille and then I fell asleep on the sofa whilst trying to concentrate on Morse. Earlier in the day my timetable read like an exercise in self-improvement: I wrote a proper letter (pen & paper) to Bridget and family, started Mansfield Park (the only Austen I have yet to read) and went on our one Government-sanctioned walk to Meanwood Park and back. This isolation and social-distancing lark isn't entirely awful. Yet.
|Dead Nettle in our Garden (30th March)|