Feeling drained and burnt out this morning. I hate it when you walk up early, but still feel exhausted. We had arranged to meet Anton for lunch, to replace the BBQ that was inevitably rained off, but I selfishly needed a gold sofa day of staring at the wall. 

Discovered a book I had been given a while ago about foraging in the UK, and spent a happy time reading aloud about weeds you can eat to Lorraine -- prompted by Steve Cartwright sending me a link to a blog about a similar subject. At the top of Hollingbury there is definitely a crab apple tree I sea groaning with fruit each autumn. In October I am going to pick it. To this effect I ordered muslin from the interwebs to strain the jelly with. Feeling curiously excited about the idea of making jams from blackberries and so on, and feel a forage or two a'coming in my bones.

Lorraine and I sauntered off to buy parsley from the Fiveways Fruits, the greengrocer. Big boxes of flat and curly leaved parsley. I opted for the curly for the bean jar that I will make tomorrow.  A quick saunter around Blakers with Lorraine talking about foraging, plants and so on before home again, where I looked at my wildflower book. And we listened to Max Richter's new album called Exiles. 

In the evening, Sam and Lorraine played word games, while I sipped ginger beer, and finish watching Brideshead Revisited, the fairly recent adaptation. Fairly faithful to the beautifully melancholy book. Then a spot of footie and bed. Match of the Day is infinitely better now that there are crowds. Without crowds football is reduced to a simple game. It is the crowd that bring all the emotion, meaning and history to the ground.