My cool after-party birthday gifts. My new zen haiku poetry journal, a cake from Deb, and a huuuuuuugggge pile of seeds. God I love my friends.
Charlton and Heston being lovely boys. I did try to take a photo on Verity’s black sofa, but all you could see were a few teeth.
This week, I have mostly been wearing cool socks my friends bought me in order to feed the chicken girls and being glad I’m off the fashion police radar. Like they’d let me wear nutty crocs and red stripey socks.
Not that any socks can live up to a hand-made pair by Sarah’s mum. Perfect.
A picture of the divine weather last week…
And a picture of the dirty weather this week. Urgh.
Enjoy a peaceful Sunday, y’all! I’m going from creative writing about killers on the loose to an analysis of the form of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnets, with a little detour around some phonics and GCSE papers.
Silent Sunday (and a bit of waffle)
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Those hand-knit socks take me back…. My mum used to insist on knitting my vests – even when I was at grammar school. No wonder I hated PE lessons!!
PE lessons were grim anyway, what with nylon gym knickers and aertex shirts. Worst was ‘swimming’ in the winter in the school’s non-heated pool. Or hockey down on the windswept pitches with a wind so cold it would turn your legs bright red.
I got hand-knitted socks from my friend Margaret in Australia. They got their first outing on the Great Wall of China. And they’re none of your tasteful muted greeny gray stripes, but alternating mustard, turquoise and brick 🙂
You need to show me a photograph! My hand-knitted socks are amazing I must say. I’m so proud of them!