Spitfire in a blue sky

Off into the countryside this afternoon, to Borde Hill. It is a heavenly English garden with some quirky dells and ponds. Annoyingly my camera battery ran out the second I fixed on a scene. However Lorraine, Beth and I wandered about happily in the mysteriously empty gardens. There were old fashioned roses that I could have smelled for hours, lavender, mock orange, and all kinds of fragrances, including a strange deep red, poppy-sized flower with an unmistakable aroma of chocolate.

We sat the dappled shade under a stately tree, and listened to the wind moving through the trees all around. The sky was faultless blue and the day had a timeless quality, only enhanced when a wartime Spitfire flew low over the green valley.

Later went to the fish shop, and I bought some bloodworms for my fish and also eight red eyed tetras which were divided between Beth's aquarium and mine.

In the evening watched the world cup final. A fairly dour uninspiring affair where Spain narrowly beat Holland. Much more fun was Paul the Psychic Octopus, who was proved right in his prediction of the winners yet again.

Home again, and discovered another flea. Calliope still has them (in much reduced numbers) but the whole thing is horrific.

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