In which I reveal what I have been reading and watching

My summer holiday has arrived and with it more torrential rain. I have the central heating on and a fleece. 50 shades of grey have been the colour du jour of the sky for many a day now and my holiday alarm has not kicked in yet and I’m still awake at about 7am. But I have been able to make inroads to my whole bookcase of unread books, so that’s a good thing.

I read The Lewis Man, follow up to The Blackhouse which I’ve just read, by Peter May. Set on the isle of Lewis they tell the story of a policeman in Edinburgh sent to his home town in Lewis to solve a crime. Both are excellent books especially if you’re interested in that part of Scotland. The stories are both tied up with the past and the second book reveals more of Fin’s childhood growing up on Lewis. Looking forward to the third one in the Trilogy.

Just finished The Bishop’s Man by Linden MacIntyre. Not sure who recommended this one to me or where I read about it, but it is a novel about sexual abuse in Canada in the RC church. It tells the story of Fr Duncan, a priest who works for the bishop flushing out clergy who have misbehaved. Of course Duncan has his own secrets too and they are revealed as the story unfolds. In fact, it seems that everyone in the book has secrets. At times it is not a pleasant book to read, and the Church doesn’t come out of it very well. Nor should it, I guess.

Yesterday I went to see The Angel’s Share at the cinema which was good. Quite harsh in some ways, but that reflects the lives of the young men doing Community Payback, who are the anti-heros of the film. Language is choice but amusing. The film has a bit of  Whisky Galore about it.  There are some very funny bits in it and the ending will warm the cockles of your heart.

In a few days I shall be off to Orkney to explore all sorts of things. My faithful Kindle shall go with me, all bulging with unread material. More later…

Books read

“Are you going away somewhere nice?” my little flock ask when they hear I’m having the week off after Easter.  “Yes, my bed and my reclining chair,” I reply. I mean, who has the energy after Holy Week to even pack a bag, let alone go on a journey that involves concentration of any kind? The post-Easter break is for gentle housework to restore the rectory to the kind of place where you fling open the door and say “Come in!” rather than hastily kicking piles of pew sheets, damp towels, some stations of the cross and a few pounds of nails out of the way.

It is a week of gentle housework which has to be done in stages because there is so much, a week for reading trashy novels that don’t require much in the way of brain cells, of catching up on all those programmes that have been recorded and are taking up all the space on your thingummy, and restocking the fridge and cupboards with food that make meals rather than snacks. It is a week of buying belated birthday cards for all the people you’ve missed in the past few weeks. It is a week of replacing guillotines, glorious staplers, and overheating laminators back to their rightful places in the study. (I’ve still got a way to go on that front.)

But what did you read, Ruth, I hear you cry? Well thank you for asking. I read My Dear, I Wanted To Tell You by Louisa Young. This was bought last year I think when every magazine and book programme seemed to be raving about it. And I do like a WW1 story. ‘Birdsong for the new millennium’ it said on the back. Not quite, I’d say, but it was a nice and gentle read. There was a bit of  Upstairs Downstairs about it – you know, poor boy taken under the wing of wealthy bohemian family and falls in love with the daughter.  Then there is the war stuff when he signs up and quickly rises through the ranks. Well, he is the hero after all.  Alongside their story is the story of another couple but I think I missed the importance of them at the beginning and got a bit fed up with their whining.  But all in all, it was a good read, heartwarming story, and not quite the ‘masterpiece’ I’d been led to believe. 3 stars.

Next was Girl Reading by Katie Ward. Now this one was delicious. It was recommended by the TV Book Club 2012 and it worked for me. Really it is a series of short stories, and I am not a huge fan of the short story. They always leave me wanting more. But in this case, there was a link between the stories in that they were all telling the story of a girl in a painting who is reading. The first painting is The Annunciation by Simone Martini in 1333 and then is followed by six other portraits, six artists, six women reading.  (The pic opposite is the second girl – in Pieter Janssens Elinga’s Woman Reading, 1668.)  It is incredibly clever and unlike anything I’ve ever read. It is almost meditative in style because there is no speech, as such, but any speech is written in with the text, if that makes sense. The book could do with prints of the paintings and photos in the cover as I had to go and look them up, but then some of them are in the imagination of the author so I stopped worrying about the picture and just immersed myself in the scene she sets. The last chapter is set in the future and is just as evocative as the others. If you love art, you’ll love this book. I have often stood in an art gallery and wondered about the story behind the painting. If you have too, then this is a book that will thrill you to bits.  I read it almost too quickly so it will stay on the shelf to be re-read in the future, more slowly and savouring every word. 5 stars.

Finally I read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins because everyone seems to be talking about it. It is fantasy, a genre I’m not terribly familiar with, but I couldn’t put it down. Is it written for teenage girls? Who cares? It is a great story and would make a wonderful book group book because of the themes therein: loyalty, sacrifice, friendship, love, and martyrdom. Again it is set in the future, where young people from each sector are selected annually to fight to the death. I know this has already been made into a movie and can see that it would work really well visually. Knowing that it is the first part of a trilogy still surprised me at the end because so much was left unsaid, so I’m going to have to read the other two now.  Highly recommended for young people and adults alike. 4.5 stars.


The end of a holiday

So, after the witches, vampires, lust and sex in the church, the second half of my holiday really didn’t quite match up. In fact, one might almost say that it was a bit of an anti-climax.

I went out for dinner with some friends and drank wine which I don’t often do these days because I either have the car or am working the next day. Who’d have thought in my youth that it would come to this? Not many of my friends, that’s for sure.

Struggled a bit with The Book of Human Skin because I think it is trying to be Perfume but not terribly well. I’m told it gets better so will persevere but the different fonts for each character are annoying me too. Then I re-read The Redbird Christmas for our book group today and that took an afternoon as it is deliciously short (and schmaltzy).

On Friday I went to see War Horse at the flicks. Blimey, but it was loud. And long. I’d read the book when I was in my ‘reading children’s books’ phase last year and loved it. And one of these days I’d dearly love to go to the theatre to see it done there. The film was good, but very Disney. To begin with it almost looked like it was set in Brigadoon and by the red sunset at the end I almost expected Derby O’Gill or a leprauchan to pop up too. But it was a beautiful film and great story. Still not exactly sure why it was so long because the book is pretty short, but I suppose it was padded out with dialogue. There was some sniffing and hankies being produced by the end from those next to me but I’m afraid I remained dry-eyed.

On Sunday I awoke early having had a most horrible nightmare. It was all about the pew sheet being wrong for Mother Ann who is covering for me and then having to write it out by hand, and nobody had found the correct page in the Lectionary, and so on. It was in fact all about me not being in control and it all falling to pieces.  Oh dear.  But as I was up so early I went back to my old haunt in Linlithgow for church because their service begins at 9.30am. It was so lovely to be pew fodder and Mother Marian is looking after them in the vacancy so nice to catch up with her too. In fact, as the eccentrics started playing up it was almost as if I’d never been away! (By the way, you may be thinking that it is not good form for a priest to revisit an old charge, but I did ask permission and I am covering for a few of their weekday services. However, it is still a difficult issue.)

So that’s my post-Christmas done and dusted. I do feel rested and refreshed. Only one funeral awaits me and a pile of mail and emails. But it is good to be back. Another week and I’d have gone mad.


Witches, vampires, lust, Church, pilgrims and a donkey

More than half way through my week’s holiday and I’ve only managed to read two books. This was because Son #1 came to stay and needed my assistance in setting up a new business. In return he made copious quantities of coffee and food and occasionally left me alone for 30 minutes to read. I took him back to Edinburgh yesterday and let out a huge sigh of relief. Bless him.

The first book was sent to me by a friend whose taste in books I share. It is A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness and a Sunday Times Bestseller, no less. Now, I wasn’t really sure that I was going to enjoy it when I saw it was about witches, vampires and daemons albeit set in the world of academia. But in fact, I really enjoyed it. There was forbidden love (vampires and witches don’t usually get it together), adventures, baddies and goodies, and history too. In fact, it is Twilight for grown-ups or as Entertainment Weekly said ‘for the tweedy set’. Anyway it was great escapism and I thoroughly enjoyed it. My only complaint was that as I neared the end I realised the story was not going to be sewn up neatly but would be continued in the following books of the trilogy, as yet unwritten. I hate that! It’s like when ‘To Be Continued’ appears on the screen and you didn’t expect it. But at the same time the book also journeys into the world of time-travel and I can see that it will be like those old favourites by Diana Gabaldon beginning with Cross Stitch.

The next day, as the interruptions were many, I decided not to read but to watch the whole series of The Borgias. What a treat, that was. Sex, intrigue, politics, incest, murder, more sex, and all set within the confines of the church. Delicious. The vestments were lovely too.  Really one feels that one should never complain about the College of Bishops in our little church ever again.

The next book was Spanish Steps: One Man and his Ass on the Pilgrim Way to Santiago by Tim Moore. This was a Christmas present from the non-church-going husband of the Rector’s Warden who’d seen it and thought of me. Wasn’t that nice? Santiago is, as regular readers will know, on my bucket list but it is the walking that keeps it there. Tim Moore is a very funny writer and almost too funny to write a book. The jokes just came so thick and fast that I had to stop reading for a while every so often because it was just too much. Anyway, the story is as it says on the cover – his pilgrimage to Santiago with a donkey. He’s not religious so is not doing it for that reason, but is intrigued by the epic accounts of a pilgrimage undertaken by one in three medieval Europeans. Realising that walking all that distance with a rucksack ain’t gonna be a lot of fun, he decides to take a donkey along with him to carry the load. Of course, he knows nothing about donkeys. There is a wee bit of The Way in this story – non-religious person finds ‘spirituality’ on the road through the other people he meets. But there is also irreverence, amusing characters, and enough eccentrics to keep you going for a long time. There’s a touch of the Bill Bryson about it too, if that’s what you’re in to. I enjoyed it in doses.

Down south

When you live ‘over the shop’ it is good to get away on holiday. Last week I ventured south to stay with friends in Bracknell (near Ascot) in Berkshire. Not a part of the world I know but I certainly do now. For there was hardly an inch we did not explore.

Day 1 – drove to Cookham for the Stanley Spencer exhibition: The Art of Shipbuilding on the Clyde. The gallery is in the old Methodist chapel where Stanley attended as a child. I got a little print of his Last Supper. Then we walked around the village after a lovely lunch at Bel and the Dragon (highly recommended).

Day 2 – to Woking and the Lightbox Gallery Enjoyed the Pop Art exhibition which brought back many memories and the Paul Weller exhibition of photographs. Wandered round the Peacock shopping centre which was enormous. Drove to a wee church nearby dating from 1026 made from pudding stones (presumably called that because they look like fruit puddings). 

Day 3 – Pottered round Bracknell and then to Wokingham for lunch. The Vicar and his wife came for dinner and we talked ‘church’.

Day 4 – Savill Park today which was a bit like the Botanics but bigger. There was a sculpture exhibition in the grounds so that you wandered round a corner and came across a large wooden apple or a group of cane deer.


Day 4 – church today – Holy Trinity Bracknell. Nice to be pew fodder and chat to some folk who remembered fondly Bishop Alan Smithson who was once rector there. Another garden in the afternoon.

Day 5 – into London on the train to the British Museum for the Treasures of Heaven exhibition. It was absolutely incredible with reliquaries galore all very tastefully laid out in the domed Reading Room. (More tasteful than a bunch of thigh bones in plastic bags which a select group of us adored in Carfin one parish outing anyway.) The earliest items dated from the Roman period but mainly were from the medieval period. There were quite a few fragments of the true cross, three thorns from the Crown of Thorns, the foot of St Blaise, the breast milk of the Virgin Mary, some of St John the Evangelist’s hair, and my favourite was the Mandylion of Edessa – one of the earliest likenesses of Jesus.

I ate exceedingly well, walked lots, got my finger shut in a taxi door and spent a lovely evening in the Minor Injuries Unit, blethered loads, saw my first dragonfly, and slept like a log. A great holiday methinks.

In which purpleness is restored

There are some things which must be done before one goes on holiday.

One must find/launder/mend/try on (and discard with disgust)/purchase summery clothes to wear. This can be a disheartening process. And an expensive one if your weight has rocketed since the last time the sun shone. You want something that allows the rays to hit your skin but without exposing fat elbows, bingo wings, blue-veined legs, puffy ankles or a wrinkly decolletage. Not easy, believe me.

One must find the sunglasses which do not gouge out holes on either side of your nose, give you a severe headache behind your ears, fall off whenever you bend down, or are so large they rest on your pudgy cheeks and fill up with sweat thus blinding you within moments of the temperature reaching above 18 degrees.

One must find the suitcase which is exactly the right size for a just-in-case packer. A just-in-case packer? Yes, one who packs everything ‘just in case…’ Well, you never know when you might need a fruit knife, an anorak, a range of pashminas, hair straighteners, 5 pairs of shoes and sandals which allow for varying degrees of swollen feet, etc etc. And you find the perfect size suitcase only to discover after filling it with freshly laundered lingerie that this was the case that the cat peed in and you never quite got rid of the smell no matter how much Febreze and bicarb of soda you sprayed into it.

One must tidy the house incase you are struck down by a dreadful illness or accident whilst away and some poor soul has to come into your house to get your jim-jams. Or in case there is a storm and the roof falls in and the congregation have to come and tidy up the debris before your return. (They’re good, like that.) This involves a deep spring clean, emptying of fridge and filing all that has been lying in wait for at least 12 months.

One must remember to change the message on the answering machine, not too soon and not too late that the taxi is tooting at the door. One knows that one can do it remotely but whoever remembers the #* instructions when you’re in the airport lounge sipping your third Margarita? Not me, that’s for sure.

Once upon a time, one must select books to take too. Thankfully, with the advent of the Kindle this is no longer a problem. But then again there is the charger to remember… oh, which reminds me – pack the phone charger too. Of course there is a period of time on the aeroplane when one must not use a Kindle so should one take a small book or crossword to while away those tense moments?

One must also see to one’s hair. This means getting rid of some and tittifying the other. In my case this meant restoring the grey and strange pink/lilac colour to its proper purpleness. Now, as yet, I had not found a hairdresser in Falkirk which stocks the best purple in the world (Elumen by Goldwell, if you’re interested) but after a bit of googling I found that there was indeed one. This also meant trusting a new hairdresser to cut one’s crowing glory which is no mean feat. (Those with curly hair will be nodding at this point, only too well that the instructions to ‘not cut too much off my fringe because it will spring up’ seems to translate into ‘let’s turn her into something from the medieval period when fringes were worn somewhere near the hairline’). However, Amber at Kharma did a jolly good job and I quite enjoyed listening to rap music at full volume whilst reading Heat magazine. Really, I did. I think the side parting and swept over one eye look was not really for me but she was so enthusiastic I didn’t want to burst her bubble. After all, these things can always be fixed with a pair of nail scissors, can’t they? (Note to self: pack nail scissors.)

There are a host of other things one must remember which I seem to have forgotten for now. Oh the cat! How could I forget the cat? She must be packed up with all her worldly goods to the dark recesses of Son’s flat in Embra. But which blanket to pack for her? The one she weaves on my bed, the hairy tartan rug on the back of the sofa, or the fake sheepskin one she has studiously ignored since I put it in the washing machine, preferring the runner at the foot of the spare bed anyway?

And in the meantime there are sermons to write, notices to dream up for 2 week’s worth of pew sheets, bills to pay, letters to post, and a couple of stone to lose. Ho hum.

If any burglars should happen to be reading this please note that (a) there is nothing worth pinching;  (b) the alarm and cameras will get you; and (c) other burly son may pop in to stay!

Tales of a wee week off

I’ve just had a wee week off. A week off is just not enough really for a holiday. It doesn’t feel like a week, it feels like a ‘wee week’. That’s probably because the first few days are spent getting the house in order and dozing at unexpected times. You just have to write them off.  Then you manage to do a spot of reading and watching movies (and nursing of Son #1’s girlfriend who’d come to visit and took ill). A midweek lunch with a friend was lovely and all too short really. Of course, behind it all there is the thought of ‘where will I go to church on Sunday’. As it happened, for reasons which I won’t go into here, it had to be somewhere fairly close so my old haunt at Bathgate was going to be the lucky recipient of my company today. That was until I went out, all dressed and tittivated, to find someone had parked in front of my car and blocked me in – and our service had already started so I could hardly stomp in and demand they move it. I can’t tell you how flipping mad I was. Getting to be pew fodder is just so important to me because it happens so rarely. (Oh Ruth, get over it! And you got to listen to the Archers Omnibus uninterrupted so what’s the complaint?)

Anyway, let me tell you what I read this week.  I’d begun Case Histories a week or so ago and then discovered it was also being serialised on TV. So closely, in fact, that the book was spoiled by knowing exactly what was going to happen. There was more humour in the book, I think, but I preferred it being set in Edinburgh on TV rather than Cambridge. I like Kate Atkinson’s style of writing and am working my way through all of her books in between others.

I also started In this House of Brede by Rumer Godden. The first I ever heard of Rumer Godden was when Bruce Willis, on whom I had a brief crush during his Moonlighting days, named his first child Rumer after said author. I assumed she was American. Then I read about this book on another blog recently and discovered that she had written the book ‘Black Narcissus’ which was made into one of my favourite nun films. (Yes, I have a list of favourite nun films. Doesn’t everyone?) Black Narcissus is the one with the nuns in Tibet or Nepal where Sr Ruth goes mad and swings from a bellrope at the end. You know the one. (And why are mad people always called Ruth? Think ‘Casualty’! And many others…) This blog was extolling In this House of Brede as a book about nuns (more nuns! yay!) which the blogger had read and re-read throughout her life. Off to Amazon I went and it arrived midweek, and what a joy it is. It is quite a tome so it might take me time to get through it but I can recommend it already. But I’m wondering why I’ve never heard of Rumer Godden and her nun books before.

I’ve also started When God was a Rabbit which I am also adoring. I don’t think it is like anything I’ve read before but I love its quirkiness. And it is very funny in bits. More on that later. It may well get to be our next book group book. (We’re doing Cranford during the summer in the first of our Classics.)

Son #1, sick girlfriend and I also watched Tamara Drewe which was in the bargain bucket at Tesco and a British film so had to be bought. It was funny, laugh out loud in places, and sweet. It is a film made from Posy Simmonds’ cartoon strip in the Guardian, which I’d never read btw. Tamsin Greig made the movie for me, as she usually does, playing the cheated-upon wife of a crime novelist who holds writer’s retreats. There is a bit of Hardy in the mix too, and two hilarious teenagers living in a small village where nothing exciting ever happens. It is a good Sunday afternoon film (although we watched it on Wednesday, I think, but it was fun all the same).

So that was my week really. Not terribly exciting. I did plan on getting away for a few days but events conspired against me but I’ve had a rest and that was needed. Now once more unto the breach…

Clergy holidays (and what I did on mine)

Clergy do quite well for holidays. We get about 6 weeks a year, if we take them all of course. 4 weeks with Sundays and 2 without. I guess that kind of makes up for the fact that we mostly work 6 days a week at an average of 12 hours a day. (And still we feel that we haven’t done all that we should. ) So this past week has been my post-Christmass break. Every year I plan to block out weeks in my diary before they fill up and always I forget. So this was the first week I could manage after the busyness of the Christmass season. The baby Jesus can be so demanding, you know.

Although clergy do quite well for holidays, our stipend doesn’t really give us enough to actually go away on holiday. Some have found the secret locations of the cheap diocesan cottage which only those ‘in the know’ have access to. (I don’t think our diocese has any.) Some have holiday homes or caravans to which they escape. Some have working spouses who contribute to a nice holiday somewhere quiet. And some of us have none of these things and stay at home, lurking behind the net curtains (or purple voiles, in my case) jumping whenever the phone rings and having to check the answering machine anyway in case your old father has fallen out of bed again. I don’t really mind staying at home. The Lord knows there is always plenty to do. And I am never happier than with a pile of books and a few DVDs to watch. For the first 48 hours that is. Then I tend to get bored and wish I was back at work. I do love my work! But I know if we do that, we end up having nervous breakdowns and having to retreat to nice nuns somewhere to cry. (I’ve never got that bad yet, but if anyone knows where the nice nuns are, do let me know for future reference.)

The first book I read was a very short young children’s read-aloud one which I’d heard about called The Kissing Hand. Chester Raccoon doesn’t want to go to school. He wants to stay home with mummy Raccoon but Mrs Raccoon explains to him that it might not be as scary as he thinks. Then she tells him a secret which she learned from her mother, called the Kissing Hand. She kisses him on the palm of his hand and told Chester that whenever he felt lonely and needed a little loving from home he was to press his hand to his cheek and think, ‘Mummy loves you. Mummy loves you.’ And that very kiss will jump to your face and fill you with toasty warm thoughts. Etc etc. You get the drift. It made me think of God holding you in the palm of his hand so may find its way into a sermon at some point.

Holiday reading always has to include a whodunit. This one was A Very Private Grave by Donna Fletcher Crow, which I think was recommended in the Church Times but I could be wrong. Whodunits are good but an ecclesiastical whodunit is even better. This one starts off in Mirfield at the Community of the Resurrection with Felicity, a young American student studying there – one of the first women ordinands to do so.  So lots of connections for me so far. Then one of the lovely old monks gets murdered brutally and Felicity and Fr Antony, her church history lecturer, have to flee the College and try to solve the murder before they are accused of having a hand in it. They know that old Fr Dominic was exploring St Cuthbert’s life just before he died so they decide to trace St Cuthbert’s footsteps looking for clues. That takes them to Holy Island, Jarrow, Whithorn and Durham. All throughout you get excerpts from Cuthbert’s hagiography and the Venerable Bede’s opus as they follow the pilgrim’s way. So what’s not to love? Places I know, situations I can relate to – it all sounds like the perfect whodunit. Except that there was just a touch too much of Cuthbert’s story in this for me. Big chunks of the saint’s story were just a little intrusive to the story which didn’t really need so much detail. But heh, if you want a whodunit with lots of historical detail then this is the book for you. I enjoyed it and would certainly look out for more in this series of Monastery Murders (this is the first, I think).

Then I watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Swedish TV version).  I loved the Millenium trilogy which I read last year and had heard that the films were equally good. This is the version made for Swedish TV and I watched the dubbed version rather than subtitles because I was knitting at the time – and my knitting is not that good. It was really good – true to the book and pretty violent in bits. I’d definitely get the next two when they’re in the sales.

The next book was Mennonite in a Little Black Dress: A Memoir of Going Home by Rhoda Janzen. Whoever recommended this one to me, thank you. It was hilarious. I read it on my Kindle and am so glad because I know I will dip into it again and again. Janzen’s memoir is funny, sad, spiritual and educational. Just as she turned forty her husband left her for Bob who he met on Then she has a car accident and needs somewhere to rest, recuperate and put her life back together again. There is nothing else for it but to go back home to her mother’s welcoming arms in the Mennonite community where she grew up. Her mother is full of good advice, mostly relating to food and there are recipes at the back of the book if you fancy making Borscht soup or have any leftover cabbage. Yes, I did laugh out loud a few times and some lines were just so funny they had to be underlined for future reference (and for all Kindle readers of the book to see!) And for anyone whose husband has manic depression or leaves you for a gay lover, then this is a book you can relate to.  (And yes, mine was but he didn’t.)

The next watch was The Barchester Chronicles on DVD. I remember this being on the BBC way back in the early 1980s but I think I missed it for some reason. A very young and handsome Alan Rickman stars in one of his first roles as the odious Obadiah Slope, Bishop’s Chaplain in Barchester, and there are sterling performances from Donald Pleasence, Geraldine McEwan, Nigel Hawthorne and Susan Hampshire among others. The Church of England of the 18th century doesn’t fare terribly well in Trollope’s novels but there were some parallels for us to draw upon today. Ambition in the church is never a good thing. It was uncomfortable viewing but I just had to watch all 8 episodes in one go.  I can’t recommend this highly enough.

Finally, a book I’ve started but not finished. Where did I hear about this one? I can’t remember but I do know it was because it tempted me with stories of midwives, nuns, prostitutes and priests in the east end of London in the 1950s. Call the Midwife offers it all but so far I’ve only met the midwives and the nuns. It is quite incredible to read something so horrific that happened in your own lifetime and if you are at all squeamish about the symptoms of syphillis then this is not the book for you. I’ll let you know how the church fairs when I’ve finished it.

So there we have it. A little light reading, some enjoyable viewing, a few crosswords and not a lot of housework was done. And now back to work a day early because I didn’t get a chance to write the sermons or prepare for an ecumenical service I’m leading tomorrow. Hey ho.



I am on holiday for a week. This is my post-Christmass break, a little bit late. I didn’t get to church yesterday because my cover couldn’t do the service and the other stand-in was on call and might have had to go at any time. So I had to hover around at home in case I was needed. I will find a mid-week service somewhere.

I did have plans to potter about visiting and travelling but the car has to go into the garage overnight mid week so it looks like it will be a week of rest, tidying, reading and watching a pile of DVDs instead. That feels fine.

I may blog. I may not.