Beautiful book

Up alone, apart from the cats, and downstairs to have my healthy breakfast. A peaceful day, but I am finding it hard to shake off a persistent gloom. Worked on the thorny poetry MS. A distant roar and I glimpsed for a second a formation of five planes, probably spitfires and hurricanes, over the sea. Took my camera out for a walk in the afternoon, but saw no further planes, and the light washed everything out.

I finished  The White Book by Han Kang, fluently translated by Deborah Smith. It is fiction, and I cannot remember reading a more beautiful book. Utterly brilliant. I took it from Janet's shelf after she died. I think it was in her to read pile. I ordered the two other books Han Kang has written that are easily available. Can't remember the last time I was struck so much by something I have read.

 In the evening off to the gym and did another half an hour's trundling. Still falling short of where I was a month or so again, but gradually getting there. I am at least doing half an hour on the cross trainer again, albeit at number 9 and not 15.  Lorraine entering in Seaford as I left, diverted to pick me up at the pond and drive me back to the gym to collect my recharging earphones holder.

Home with Lorraine which always makes me feel good.