The worst of me

If anything feeling worse than I had done during the week -- the bagpipe lungs remain, but a new kind of tiredness now. However, Lorraine improving steadily. Joy, our next door neighbour, brought us some provisions, which was kind. I am feeling dismal, and ill -- conditions which bring out the Worst Possible Peter Kenny.  

I wrote to Robin to say I wouldn't be recording anything for a while, still. She was a brick. 

Lorraine busy doing things, as she recovers, and impatient to be out in the garden.  She is nurturing assorted seed sprouts which are packed with goodness of all kinds. Baking bread, which has now started escaping from the tins when left to prove. Give it a hundred years or so and it will be inventing its own tax system, and making its first tentative steps into manufacturing.