Yesterday I had no interest in doing anything. I read just a few pages, sat in the sun for a bit, took H. H. to the park for a romp and then, late in the day, baked a tart for Croquet this afternoon. I had the blahs all day.
The Madness of George III, by Alan Bennett, is next week’s offering by the National Theatre. Yay. Today, Coriolanusdebuted. No comment. It’s been said.
I’ve started reading Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. So far—and that’s not very far—so good; she’s hooked me on her powerfully descriptive and sensual writing.
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Today has dawned optimistically, but rain is predicted so I hope we can go ahead with our plans for Croquet this afternoon. My fingers will be crossed all morning, hoping that it stays nice until twelve-thirty when we plan to meet for lunch before the game.
I’m off for a dog walk with my small dog walking group. Then I’ll come home to load up my car with paraphernalia for play: folding chairs, the Croquet set, my picnic set of plates and cutlery etc. and, of course, the Apple tart. The others are bringing more things to eat.
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Well … I’m back from the walk and the weather is looking risky for Croquet. I’ll wait a while longer to see what my fellow players think about going ahead or postponing until better weather.
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