Still here, still well, still vacillating between the end of one career (writing) and the start of another (painting).
Meantime, I’ve been hiding indoors from the almost continuous 40 days and 40 nights of St Swithin’s rain, watching old TV programmes on the Internet and getting restless, slowly but surely.
My next door neighbour tells me that when her husband retired he sat at home for three months or so watching TV then got up and bought himself a set of golf clubs, signed up at the local club, and has been an ardent and steady member ever since. How laudable.
Me, I have a new easel, a set of oil paints, and a stack of canvasses all ready to go. Getting close, but don’t push me.
Graham, needing no pushing, has decorated and recarpeted two bedrooms and, in addition, has made over my study, fitting new shelves and making space for the easel and a painting station. Very smart, but just a bit echo-filled just now.
And that brings us up to date. Not a lot happening round here, as you may have guessed.
Keep safe.
