A small harvest of pears
Lorraine off to work, and I got up to start work, having lapped up the tea Lorraine brought me in bed. Stressed first thing, however, with the client changing overnight what time the morning's teleconference would start. I was up far earlier, but only discovered everything had changed overnight and the meeting was underway, and I couldn't load the necessary software either. The rest of the day fine though, working for the agency.
Also caught up on some emails relating to Janet, bill my lovely French clients, chat to mum and send off a few emails. I also had a long chat with Rod, Ken's son. Mum's car has passed its MOT, although the number plate that she had refreshed with new paint had to be replaced. Also chatting to Betty about going to Janet's house tomorrow morning.
A couple of short walks too. Lorraine having an evening governors meeting so home late. I watched a documentary about early humans and tried to draw designs for stained glass windows. I can't seem to face thinking about poems or writing anything creative, and I have very little time at the moment.
During the day, while getting a breath of air and a cup of tea outside, I leaned over our back wall of our little garden, and picked some more pears from the garden that is completely overgrown out the back. They are really nice, if small. I wondered how much fruit must be wasted like this across the country.
Lorraine home late. To bed, I read her two pages of The Secret Garden, and she was spark out.
Also caught up on some emails relating to Janet, bill my lovely French clients, chat to mum and send off a few emails. I also had a long chat with Rod, Ken's son. Mum's car has passed its MOT, although the number plate that she had refreshed with new paint had to be replaced. Also chatting to Betty about going to Janet's house tomorrow morning.
A couple of short walks too. Lorraine having an evening governors meeting so home late. I watched a documentary about early humans and tried to draw designs for stained glass windows. I can't seem to face thinking about poems or writing anything creative, and I have very little time at the moment.
During the day, while getting a breath of air and a cup of tea outside, I leaned over our back wall of our little garden, and picked some more pears from the garden that is completely overgrown out the back. They are really nice, if small. I wondered how much fruit must be wasted like this across the country.
Lorraine home late. To bed, I read her two pages of The Secret Garden, and she was spark out.
Comments