Venting.

I’m absolutely steaming with indignation and in no mood to write a blog post. Why? Because I did several hours work for somebody recently purely as a favour, and now he’s presuming on my better nature by expecting me to do more and more. I hate that; I really do. I’m happy to do people favours, but there comes a point at which a line is crossed and you’re being taken advantage of. No. No. No.

But it’s Sunday night, darkness has fallen, the curtains are closed, Sheila Chandra is singing beautifully as only Sheila Chandra can, and I still want to write a post. Maybe it will improve my mood or maybe it won’t. I think I’ll make the effort to find out, so what should I write about?

I have a lodger (this isn’t very interesting but it will suffice while I’m still steaming with indignation.)

Remember the hen pheasant I talked about recently, the one I saw walking along the top of one of my tall hedges. That was a first, but it got better. The next time I saw her she was climbing from the hedge onto the heavy growth of ivy and clematis which crowns the roof of my garden shed. She proceeded to carve a hole in the growth and then crawled into it. Yesterday afternoon I spotted her sitting contentedly in another depression she’d made, apparently admiring the view in all directions.

I think she’s made my shed her permanent abode, and that isn’t typical pheasant behaviour. In fact, I’d say it marks her out as an unusually smart pheasant, and if there’s one thing pheasants are not renowned for, it’s being smart. Her name’s Phyllis.

Life in my private world is becoming curiouser and curiouser, and I’m still in a bad mood. Coffee next. Maybe that will work.

I have three doctor’s appointments this week.

My right arm is still injured, but I pushed through the pain with some garden work today.

I want an email from the priestess. She usually cheers me up.

I keep being reminded of when the Lady B was the sunshine in my life, but she’s over the hills and far away now.

That will have to do.

Bye.